#especially like the more stupidly decadent the surroundings

[steakbones]

my beautiful assistant dressed in the finest silks scrolling through my tumblr dashboard and reading the posts aloud to me while i lounge on a magnificent gilded chaise eating from an elaborate charcuterie platter and another beautiful assistant of mine plays the harp to create a relaxing atmosphere

[owls-spice-cabinet]

Daybreak

Posting this was so weird bc I didn't want to post it on Ao3 but there was already Part 1 on Ao3 so HERE WE ARE i guess idk it's out there floating in the void somewhere without my name on it bc I couldn't figure out how to post anonymously on Ao3 and it's too late to reclaim my orphan now :) but here's the Ao3 link

ANYWAY. This is a continuation of a previous fic of mine called Dawning. Ao3 link there for everyone. @worldseer @cod-dump @midnight193 anyone not 18 years of age, get the fuck out for legal reasons thanks byyyyee

Words: ~7000 Content: blow jobs, cum swallowing, outrageous flirting, idk it's not that spicy Ship: implied eventual nikpricegraves; it's mostly just nik/graves and price/graves

Phillip had been in London a few times now, mostly either stopping over between flights or meeting up with a new client from somewhere even farther away. He had a few places he liked to frequent when he had some time to himself, although that wasn’t common. Typically, he’d follow his Shadows around like their namesake to various restaurants and bars—sorry pubs. Right now, however, he’d let the more outgoing of them go off while he and the others stayed at their hotel. It was a new place, not one he’d stayed in before with or without his troops, but he’d also never brought this number of troops through London before. When he’d asked Laswell for recommendations, he’d taken her seriously.

For the price, the place was surprisingly accommodating, which probably put it towards the top of Laswell’s list in the first place. It was far from the city center, leaving plenty of buffer room between his forces and the rest of the public. He wasn’t paranoid, he was experienced, and experience told him cordoning off a whole floor of one hotel with armed guards—armed American soldiers—might have raised too many questions surrounded by an entire city of international travelers. Granted, that meant the rooms were a little smaller than some others he'd stayed in, but the management clearly had some experience in putting up soldiers for a few nights.

It did have a nice bar, too. It was backed up against the hotel’s in-house restaurant, so they could share supplies without having the bar as the main focal point to the foot traffic outside. There were numerous tables throughout the space, and a collection of booths set up against the back wall and one of the sides. A large rectangular window ran the length of the wall opposite the bar, and there were two doors out of the room: one exited to the street behind the hotel, and the other went to the rest of the building and the rooms upstairs.

Phillip sat in a booth against the side wall, enjoying the chance to quietly wind down after a more informative mission than he’d counted on. It had been slightly awkward at times, after he’d worked up to returning Nik’s advances where other people might notice it. He hadn’t been making a show of it, just… hadn’t been hiding. It hadn’t been awkward doing it—actually that had been so stupidly easy, it had felt like breathing. Answering very carefully worded questions from his officers had been the awkward part, mostly for them. Especially for Jackson, who’d followed him out of the Marines and had stayed at his right hand for almost a decade now.

Fortunately, no one had been an ass about it. Granted, that was probably a perk of being your own boss. If anyone was dumb enough to be an ass where he could prove it, he could fire them. But honestly, aside from the odd conversations and the usual frustrations that came with dealing with Russians, the mission had wrapped up neatly. Not entirely successful, but certainly far from failure.

Phillip got up and walked over to the bar. One of the bartenders, a woman with dark red hair and glasses whose nametag read Shelly, took notice and put a smile on as he came within conversational distance.

“Is everything alright, sir?” she asked.

“Just fine, thank you,” he answered politely. He set his half-finished whiskey on the rocks down on a coaster. “If I ask you to keep an eye on that while I go use the restroom, would you do that?” He figured it wasn’t much to ask, considering there were all of twenty people in the room, and all but three were his Shadows—his quieter Shadows.

Sue him, he was a little paranoid. He was military, he’d just pissed off some Russians, and he wasn’t at his home base. He was allowed.

Shelly smiled and nodded. “Absolutely, sir. I’ll put it over here for you,” she said, picking it up and setting it behind the bar near her station. “Just ask when you’re back.”

“Much obliged,” he said, taking note of where it had ended up. Then he left.

-scene break-

When he returned, he heard the hum of chatter in the room was about the same as he’d left it. Nothing much had changed. It was still only barely 21:45, so no one was in a hurry to get to bed—not even his Shadows, who’d had a long flight today. Phillip eyed his Shadows, scattered at various booths and tables throughout the room. They seemed to be exactly as he’d left them as well, gathered in their groups of three to five and talking quietly amongst themselves.

The doorway that led down to the restrooms was on the far end of the room from the bar. He’d emerged behind most of the other people in the room, giving him plenty of time to survey the room. He looked around to where he’d been sitting earlier, and stopped.

Now that was fascinating.

Laswell had recommended this hotel, he recalled. She knew it had the capabilities to keep him and his soldiers safe and happy for the time they had to be here. Except, Kate Laswell was not an officer of any military force. She had no troops to command, and rarely traveled in groups who needed such accommodations. Why might she have known about this little place, then?

Phillip smiled to himself, recognizing the back of Nikolai’s head and shoulders at one of the tables near the rows of booths against the back wall. Looking around, he saw John Price standing at the bar, making small talk with the other bartender whose name Phillip didn’t know. He almost did a double-take, then stared, trying to figure out what about John’s person had suddenly made it almost impossible to look away from him.

He figured it out as he walked silently up behind Nik’s chair. Nik, John, and Sergeant Garrick had all had to leave before the mission in Urzikstan had officially resolved, so he hadn’t been there in person for Phillip to share all the amusement he found in putting a few puzzle pieces together about himself. For example, he’d figured out, after those three had left, why he had felt so differently towards Nik when John had clearly been flirting with him over roughly the same amount of time, and Phillip had been just as clueless.

The answer was surprisingly simple. Surprising to him, at least. Again, he had been clueless.

See, Nik had started out as something resembling a friend. If John hadn’t been in the picture, Nik was someone Phillip would have asked out on a date, held hands with, watch a movie with—all those horribly romantic things he’d always felt weird about before.

John? Not quite the same thing.

He’d finally figured out he wanted John to absolutely ruin him, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what that would entail.

And while the dark blue collared shirt and grey jeans John wore now were nothing particularly special on their own, it was the first time Phillip had seen him out of field uniforms and a tac vest. The outfit was nothing if not encouraging.

When he reached Nik’s chair, he put one hand on the back of it, careful not to touch Nik more than brushing his shirt with the back of his knuckles. He knew sneaking up on people with combat training was a gamble already.

“John oughta be more careful,” he said in a low voice, “leaving such a handsome man like you unattended in a bar at night.”

Nik had tensed initially upon realizing someone had snuck up on him. But he had long since recognized Phillip’s voice. He hummed, giving no verbal answer, his shoulders relaxing.

Phillip leaned over, placing his other hand on the tabletop so he was hovering beside Nik’s head. “But then again, with an ass like that, maybe he doesn’t need to be careful,” he said, tilting his head slightly in John’s direction with a small smile.

Nik’s own smile turned a bit devious as he followed the indicated line of sight to John’s ridiculously attractive backside. Then he looked back to Phillip. “Are you suggesting I only stay with him for his looks?”

Phillip turned his head to meet his gaze. “I wouldn’t dream of such an insinuation, Nikolai. I have it on very good authority that you have excellent taste in men.”

That made him laugh softly, his dark eyes crinkling. Phillip had missed the heady, fluttery feeling he got seeing it. The whiskey he’d been drinking earlier couldn’t compare. Nik lifted a hand to place under the far side of Phillip’s jaw, turning his head just a bit more until he could lean in to kiss him.

Phillip gave a silent sigh, leaning into him in return. Yeah, he had missed this too. When Nik released him, he checked the bar and found John hadn’t moved.

“How long are you here?” Nik asked him.

“Just tonight and tomorrow night,” he answered, a little distantly. He was thinking.

“Don’t stare too hard, you’ll burn a hole in those very hard-working jeans,” Nik said with a smile.

Phillip ducked his head and smiled. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and glanced back up at the bar before looking at Nik again. “He was flirting with me half the mission.”

“He was, very badly. It was funny when you did it back, though,” Nik said, reaching up to trace the underside of Phillip’s jaw with a fingertip.

He nodded his agreement. He’d only managed it once or twice before John and the rest had left, but the effect had been priceless. The look of shock all over his face right before he’d muttered something like “fuck off” and stalked away had entertained Phillip for days the first time.

“I don’t want to interrupt your evening, but I also feel like you’ll understand perfectly if I tell you this,” he said, keeping his voice low at Nik’s ear.

Nik’s hand remained tucked under his jaw. “I am listening, Лучик,” he murmured.

Phillip was glad the light in the room was low enough to help disguise whatever blush was creeping up the back of his neck. Just because he’d admitted it to himself didn’t mean he knew how to admit it to other people. He’d meant it when he’d said Nik would understand—he was counting on it, actually. “I have been wanting that man to fuck me into oblivion for weeks.”

The smile on Nik’s face widened, gaining a sharp edge. His dark eyes glittered when they turned to him. “I don’t think I would mind such an interruption at all,” he said in that low tone that made Phillip’s knees wobble a bit. “I have it on good authority that he is very good at such things.”

Phillip could practically feel the blood in his body draining south—a fairly novel sensation, he might point out. He hadn’t realized what proper sexual arousal felt like outside of physical stimulation until about a month ago, and that had been almost as groundbreaking as realizing he hadn’t actually been romantically invested in any of his previous relationships.

Nik wasn’t finished speaking, however. “I do have two conditions,” he said. “One, you are doing the work of seducing him, because I want to see that. Two, I will allow the interruption tonight, if I am allowed to have you to myself tomorrow night?” He accentuated the last phrase by taking hold of Phillip’s jaw, turning his face to him, and gently running his thumb across his bottom lip.

This man would be the death of him, Phillip was sure. He grinned, barely resisting the urge to lick his bottom lip. “You got yourself a deal, handsome,” he said. He lifted his hand from the back of Nik’s chair, setting it on his shoulders instead. Before he stood up, Nik pulled him in for a peck on the lips. He squeezed his shoulder in return as he straightened up from where he’d been leaning on the table.

Nik and John must have come here before, he was starting to suspect. John had been standing at the bar, chatting with the other bartender for a while now. Even the most complicated cocktails on the menu here didn’t take that long to make, so there must be some history there. Plus, Phillip remembered he still had to retrieve his own drink from Shelly. He did that first, walking up to her with a polite smile.

“I’ve kept it safe for you sir,” she said, setting it in front of him.

“Thank you very much,” he said, picking the glass up and taking a drink from it. Then he turned to face down the bar towards John. “So why don’t you ever wear jeans in the field, John?”

John stared at him, blue eyes dark and impassive. The bartender he’d been talking to took note and set about actually making drinks. John was silent for a long pause, like he was waiting or looking for something. “Thought those lot might be military,” he said gruffly, gesturing to the nearest table of Shadows.

They weren’t in uniform exactly, but it wasn’t far from it. A few of them wore the company-issued sweaters or jackets. Hell, Phillip himself was wearing a black collared shirt with the Shadow Co. insignia stitched small over the left breast. He was allowed to wear his own merch, he’d founded the damn thing.

“Yeah, we’re stopping over for a couple nights on our way back across the pond,” Phillip explained, stepping closer. “Laswell recommended this place, actually. Guess I know why now, seeing as you’re both lookin’ pretty cozy around here,” he went on, tipping his head towards Nik watching from his table.

John grunted, accepting a pint from the man behind the bar. “Yeah, funny thing,” he muttered, taking a sip, then licking foam from his mustache.

“Gonna answer my question?” Phillip prompted, leaning an elbow on the bar. “Saw plenty of the guys wearin’ jeans in Mexico. Never seen ‘em on you ‘til now.”

It was clear John didn’t quite grasp what he was doing here yet, but was still valiantly trying to figure it out. “We have dress codes for a reason,” he answered, holding his gaze. “They work for job.”

Phillip nodded like he’d actually cared about the reason why. He hadn’t, not truly. “Well, I guess I’m grateful you follow dress codes, then,” he said, raising his glass a little.

He got another outwardly impassive look in response, only briefly interrupted by the bartender placing a second drink near him, presumably for Nik since Phillip had seen vodka go into the mix. “Do I want to know why?” John asked, sounding the slightest bit genuine.

With a slow grin, he leaned in. “’Cause I would’ve been dead six different ways if you’d had these on out there,” he said, helpfully casting his gaze down John’s person to make his point. “’Specially considering you like to lead up front—” He sucked air through his teeth, quirking his eyebrows a hair higher. “Distracting.”

John caught on, finally, rolling his eyes and turning back to his pint. “Fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered, taking another, bigger, drink from it.

“Oh, you can dish it out, but you’re not taking it?” Phillip asked.

“I was not—!” He cut himself off sharply when he caught the smirk on Phillip’s face.

He raised an eyebrow at him. “You weren’t what?” he asked. “When you were watching me check over my weapons and you made me do it twice because you wanted to see how I handled the equipment, and then said I had good handling skills for an American, you weren’t doing what, exactly?” He was being nice enough to keep his voice down, but it did mean he had to get a little closer than a usual conversation.

He would admit, he did enjoy the stern glare he was getting out of this. After a few confusing weeks at the mercy of Nik’s very purposeful flirting and John’s only sometimes purposeful flirting, it was nice to be on the same page for this exchange.

“None of your boys is here, no need to worry about a reputation,” he added quietly. “I’m certainly not.” He wasn’t worried about his reputation, no, but there were plenty of aspects of this conversation he was largely bluffing through. But what else was new for him?

John rolled his eyes minutely. “You’re fuckin’ insufferable since you figured yourself out.”

“I was insufferable before, too. But even then, I couldn’t manage to get under your skin the way I can now, so what does that tell you?”

“Fuck all.”

Phillip smiled again. “Does it bother you that you’re no longer automatically controlling the conversation now that I know what you’re doing?” In his periphery, he saw John’s hand flex and tighten around his pint glass. “I wouldn’t be too concerned. I mean, you’ve still got plenty of experience in other areas that I don’t, so I’d probably let you push me around a bit if you wanted.” Never mind the fact that, like Nik, John’s arms were incredible, and he probably wouldn’t have minded in the first place if either of them wanted to push him around at all.

Huh. Go figure.

For the first time since Phillip had walked over here, John’s eyes weren’t carefully unreadable. Something about his expression had darkened almost imperceptibly, and Phillip couldn’t decide how he felt about the shudder that it sent down his spine.

This time John leaned in a little. “Don’t make an offer you’re not willing to follow up,” he said.

“When have I ever backed out of a good deal, John?” he replied, keeping an easy smile on his face despite his heartrate ticking up just from the tone of John’s voice.

“A deal?”

“I get what I want, you get what you want. Mutually beneficial arrangement.”

A small smile appeared on John’s face as he moved his pint glass a little farther from the edge of the bar. He leaned an elbow on the wooden surface, mirroring Phillip’s position. “You know what you want, just like that?” he asked, his tone finally picking up some of the playful tone Phillip had been using.

Phillip answered truthfully, because it didn’t seem like a good idea to bluff this one. “I’m open to negotiations, if you’ve got ideas all of a sudden.”

It looked like John hadn’t been expecting that answer. That was fair, since Phillip wasn’t particularly known for his abounding sense of humility without ulterior motive. John looked at him silently for a second, then turned back to his pint on the bar. “Damn you,” he muttered as he took another drink.

This was fun. Phillip grinned again, turning his back to the bar and taking up his own drink at last. It was almost gone by now, and he had no desire to stick around to order another one. He found Nik still sitting at his table, watching them both from across the room. He caught Phillip’s grin and smiled.

“He put you up to this?” John asked. When Phillip glanced at him, he added, “Nik, I mean.”

Ah, right. “Nope. Not his idea, just his blessing.” He drank the last of his whiskey and set his glass down on the bar. “Tell you what,” he said, pulling his hotel keycards out of his back pocket (because they always gave you two even when you were clearly one person). He slid one out of the little paper envelope with the room number scrawled on it, and put it back into his pocket. “I will leave you with options,” he said quietly, reaching over to slide the extra keycard with its little envelope into the breast pocket of John’s shirt.

John let him do it, following his every move carefully, but remaining still.

Then he walked away, down the bar to Shelly to pay for his drink before he left. It took great effort not to glance sideways at John still standing at the other end of the bar. He almost broke when he had to look back up at Shelly with a polite smile and wish her a nice evening, but he held his ground. He put his wallet back in his pocket and left the bar.

-scene break-

Just over ten minutes after Phillip had arrived back in his hotel room, he heard the small beep and click of someone using a keycard to open his door. His initial reaction was one of relief, because the past ten minutes or so had been some of the most uncomfortable in his life for many reasons—not least of which was he couldn’t recall a time in recent memory he’d literally been so horny he couldn’t think straight.

No, the comedy of that phrase was not lost on him.

He closed his laptop, pushing his chair away from the desk where he’d been using his emails as a distraction. John closed the door behind him and came forward to stand in the doorway where the main room met the little entryway. He folded his arms and leaned against one wall, crossing one leg over the other as he did. Phillip didn’t try to disguise the fact that he was staring.

“You still open to negotiations?” he asked.

Phillip leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out and setting one stocking foot over the other. “Yep. Get any inspiration on your way up here?”

He supposed in any other situation, the look in John’s eyes would have set him on edge the same way a raid siren might. It was a dark, intelligent, dare he say hungry expression, and all it did now was make a low heat ignite in his gut and his dick twitch in his pants. John pushed off the wall, unfolding his arms as he walked over to Phillip’s chair. He set the keycard down on the desk, then grabbed an arm of the chair to turn it so they were facing each other.

“I’m going to ask you some questions and I would like honest answers to them,” he said, now leaning over him with a hand on each of the chair’s arms. “Think you can manage that, Phillip?”

Phillip’s mouth went unexpectedly dry. He nodded, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Doesn’t sound too difficult, no.”

John gave a small smile, but his eyes still held that focused, almost predatory expression. “Good. Am I allowed to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t kiss him immediately, which might have fried something in the back of Phillip’s brain out of sheer anticipation. Unfair. “Good,” he went on instead. “Downstairs, you’d said I could push you around a bit. Did you mean that literally? Am I allowed to pull you around a bit?”

Fuck, of course he’d remembered that. It took a considerable amount of willpower not to curl in on himself under John’s gaze, but he didn’t. He gave another nod while his tongue caught up with his brain. “Yeah, I meant that literally,” he breathed, feeling like a bug pinned to a board. Only, he’d crawled onto the board himself and stayed put while the pin came down.

John nodded once. “You understand that if I say or do something you don’t like, you will say something, and vice versa, yes?”

Phillip gave him a flat stare. “John, I’ve had sex before. I know how consent works.”

“Fine then,” he said. He grabbed both of Phillip’s wrists, one in each hand, and hauled him bodily upright out of the chair.

Phillip made note of two things. One, the show of strength had been undeniably hot and had flooded his brain with another wave of arousal that quickly drained right to his dick. Two, John was still in his shoes whereas Phillip stood in socks, which made their height difference that much more noticeable. All told, he felt almost… small. Before he could think further into how he felt about that, John’s mouth had found his, and thinking was no longer important.

Admittedly, he’d thought about what it would feel like to kiss John. He’d never kissed anyone with facial hair, after all, because Nik preferred a clean face, and it had obviously never come up in his previous relationships. Turned out, Phillip didn’t really care. Yes, he could feel it tickling his face, and yes, it required a bit of maneuvering sometimes, but he didn’t care. Possibly he didn’t care because he’d been dying to get his hands on this man for weeks; possibly because he was harder than he’d been in recent memory and the prospect of relief was overshadowing a lot of other things at the moment; and possibly because John had just shoved him up onto the desk he’d been sitting at, and keeping his balance took the rest of his brain power.

“Fucking shit,” he hissed, once again aware of how achingly uncomfortable his jeans were becoming. He’d never been pushed around like this—he’d been the one doing any manhandling, usually because the lady had asked very nicely. But fuck, he could understand the appeal.

“Good?” John asked. He’d long since let go of Phillip’s wrists, now gripping his hips instead.

Phillip didn’t bother answering such a stupid question. He hooked his left arm around his neck and grabbed his collar with the right hand, pulling him back in to keep kissing him. John lurched forward with the usual grace of someone caught off guard, inadvertently pressing one of his thighs (his large, muscled, and horrendously attractive thighs) directly into Phillip’s groin.

Phillip moaned into his mouth, his hips involuntarily pressing forward against the pressure. He broke away to breathe, to try to clear his head that felt like it was swimming with want. He barely got a breath in when John’s hands pulled his hips back against his leg, and the rush of pleasure forced half the air from his lungs anyway. He growled, catching a glimpse of the smug smile on John’s face right before he kissed it, perhaps a bit more forcefully than was strictly necessary. Judging by the noise it got from John, though, neither of them cared.

He felt John’s tongue press against the seam of his lips with clear intent at the same time he felt the man’s hands tugging his shirt out of his waistband. He let both happen, groaning softly when John’s warm palms fit snugly around his ribs and his tongue slid into his mouth. Again, it was something Phillip had never understood to be particularly pleasant, let alone attractive, but he was discovering a lot of things made more sense when he was actually attracted to the person in question. John’s leg ground up against him again, drawing a quiet groan from him as he tried desperately to hold onto his composure.

It wasn’t easy. The warmth from John’s hands was making goose bumps erupt in their wake along his sides, across his lower back, and slowly trailing higher. The movement of his leg against the bulge in Phillip’s jeans turned slow and repetitive, pulling small noises from his throat even as he tried to hold them back. He could feel his body heating up as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him, until he realized the situation was heading towards a conclusion far faster than he’d wanted.

He reached up with the arm still looped around John’s neck, weaving fingers into John’s hair and holding him there when he broke away from the kiss. “Will you cut that out,” he said, breathing hard, “and do something more constructive?”

The smug little smile was back on John’s face. He squeezed Phillip’s ribs and leaned in until their foreheads were pressed together. “You were making such pretty noises for me, though,” he murmured.

Phillip turned his head away, blushing deeply. That only gave John the opportunity to duck his head and start covering his jaw and ear and neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses. Without really thinking, Phillip tilted his head back, allowing him more room.

He gave a small gasp when John began sucking a mark below his ear. “Fucking Christ, John,” he whined, dragging his fingernails through the short hairs on the back of John’s head. “Please—shit, John—"

John made a low noise in his throat, detaching from his neck and licking over his handiwork once or twice. “God, if I had the fucking time,” he said into his ear, sliding his hands back down to rest on Phillip’s hips and squeezing, “I would keep you here for hours with just my fingers until you couldn’t remember your own name and just begged me to fuck you properly.”

A shudder ran down Phillip’s spine, making his stomach clench and his hips twitch forward of their own accord. Evidently, he wouldn’t mind that at all. Great. Not currently helpful, however. He closed his eyes as John once again mouthed at the underside of his jaw, struggling to put together a sentence that made sense. “Yeah, okay. But since it sounds—hah, fuck—like you don’t have the time, what—mm—what are we doing now?”

John pulled back to look at him with the same infuriating self-satisfied expression. “Impatient—”

“Yes.”

That made his eyebrows lift slightly. “Fine. Can I suck you off?”

Finally. “Yes, you can absolutely—” Phillip never finished the sentence.

As soon as the first word was out of his mouth, John pulled him off the desk, turned him around, and pushed him onto the foot of the nearest bed. He only managed to stay upright by grabbing onto one of John’s biceps. It didn’t really matter, though, because the second his ass hit the bedspread, John’s mouth found his again, and he felt himself being eased slowly and very deliberately onto his back. John licked into his mouth again, and his hand not currently supporting his weight snaked up and into Phillip’s hair, gently pulling his head back slightly. Fuck, did it feel good, too. If his eyes weren’t already closed, they probably would have crossed.

John pulled away, his hand sliding down along Phillip’s face to his collar, resting on the first button. “Still good?”

Phillip tried to answer, but the words “what” and “yeah” both wanted to come out of his mouth at the same time. It ended up as an unintelligible noise half-way between both words. He blinked, a little confused as to why that hadn’t made sense, and then John burst into poorly restrained but genuine, honest-to-God giggles. Phillip covered his face, a blush searing his ears and cheeks as John buried his face in his chest to laugh.

After a couple seconds, he lifted it to say, “How’re you already fucked dumb when I haven’t even touched you?” He was still smiling fit to burst.

Phillip hit his shoulder. “Oh, shut up!”

“I’m not making fun of you,” John said, leaning down and starting to press kisses across his cheeks and jaw.

Phillip let him, because it felt good. “Yeah, sure.” But it didn’t feel good enough to let it continue indefinitely. He reached up and grabbed John’s chin, forcing eye contact. “Did your mother never teach you not to play with your food?” he asked pointedly. “I thought you asked to suck my dick, and my belt buckle has yet to be undone.” He raised his eyebrows a hair and tilted his head in lieu of asking John if he could see what the problem was.

There were still traces of amusement all over John’s face, but all he did was peck him on the lips before pushing himself up a bit. “Undo your shirt,” he said. He watched as Phillip did so, waiting until he was more than halfway through the buttons before he reached to undo Phillip’s belt, the button and fly following quickly afterwards.

Phillip sighed to himself when at least some of the pressure was taken off his erection, then yelped when John dragged his jeans off with enough force to pull him to the edge of the bed. He pushed himself up on his elbows to ask what the fuck, but the words stopped short of his mouth when John’s hand slid over the tent in his underwear, squeezing him gently. Whatever he’d been about to say melted into a moan as his head lolled back. The sound was loud enough to surprise himself, and he reflexively put a hand to his mouth.

John clicked his tongue, leaning over him again to take his hand from his mouth. His other hand moved slowly, slipping under the waistband of his shorts. “None of that now,” he said in a low voice. “Told you already what pretty sounds you make.” He bent down closer. “I wanna hear ‘em, Phillip. Yes?”

Phillip nodded wordlessly, mostly too preoccupied with the trajectory of John’s other hand to really protest.

“Good man,” John told him. He ran his thumb over his bottom lip before ducking down to press his mouth to Phillip’s neck. He trailed lower, dipping his tongue into the hollow of his throat and then moving to suck another mark just below his collarbone.

Phillip watched him, feeling like someone had lit fire to a trail of gasoline in the wake of John’s mouth on his skin. Beneath the obvious buzz of desire, there was a more subtle feeling building, and it was sort of familiar. John was making him feel wanted, like Nik did any chance he got, it seemed. When John reached his stomach as he kissed his way down his body, he let out a sharp breath at the tingly, giddy feeling that washed over him. John lifted his head to look at him and smiled, which finally made Phillip realize he’d had a small smile stuck on his face for a while now.

He might actually like John. That was interesting.

John finished decorating Phillip’s front with kisses and finally slid Phillip’s underwear off, sinking to his knees as he did, and letting them fall in a pile with his jeans near the bed. The sudden freedom made Phillip groan in the back of his throat. His dick was almost painfully hard, the head a clear shade of red and beading precum already. Phillip watched, still propped up on his elbows, as John made himself comfortable between his legs. The dark, almost hungry expression was back in his eyes, and as much as it made a blush rise to his cheeks and ears to be this exposed to its intensity, he couldn’t find it in himself to look away. John wrapped his right arm under Phillip’s thigh and hoisted his leg over his shoulder, all while still focused on his main goal.

He wrapped his other hand around the base of Phillip’s dick, making him hiss at the contact. John smirked. “Could get used to a view like this if I’m not careful.”

Before Phillip could respond with some remark in return, John flattened his tongue and licked up the shaft from his hand, finally taking the tip into his mouth and running his tongue over the slit.

Phillip’s shirt slipped off one of his shoulders and he didn’t even notice. “Holy shit,” he breathed, his voice sounding higher than it usually did.

He watched John take more of him into his mouth, then slowly pull back, pressing his tongue against the underside of the shaft and squeezing his hand lightly. Phillip’s leg twitched, trying to close on his head, but the arm John had wrapped around it held it in place firmly. He let out a shaky breath, like he’d just remembered to breathe in that moment, which was fairly accurate. He watched, utterly fixated, as John’s movements got longer, taking in more of him, and occasionally felt his dick twitch against the roof of his mouth or against his tongue. God, it felt fucking incredible. John’s mouth was hot and smooth sliding over him, bobbing up and down, steadily picking up a little speed as he swallowed him inch by inch and his hand covered less and less of him.

Phillip’s hips gave an aborted thrust without him meaning to as a rush of arousal shot through him at the sight. John made a noise that sounded more surprised than anything else, and he didn’t take his mouth of Phillip’s dick. Still— “Fuck, sorry—” Phillip started to say, and never finished.

John looked up at him sharply, then gave a harsh suck as he drew back, effectively negating any speaking ability Phillip might have had in the moment.

His head fell back with a loud moan he didn’t have the wherewithal to even try to cover up. “Jesus Christ,” he wheezed, his heart pounding in his ears. “Point taken, holy fuck.” He let his head hang back with his eyes closed as his mind went somewhat dizzy with pleasure.

John didn’t let up, however. If anything, he got more insistent now that he knew how to get a reaction out of him. This wasn’t the first blow job he’d ever had, but it was certainly the best by leaps and bounds. Granted, that made sense, given the whole “Not Figuring Out His Sexuality Until a Month Ago” thing. Phillip’s brain was so overwhelmed, he had little idea of the specifics outside of it being John’s mouth around his dick, and it feeling fucking wonderful. Too wonderful—he could already feel his climax threatening on the edge of his senses. Although… that was sort of the whole point here, wasn’t it?

It felt like his head weighed a hundred pounds trying to pull it back to its usual position, but he finally did focus back on John’s slightly tousled brown hair. He made a low noise just taking in the sight again, struggling to keep coherency in his thoughts as he watched. “Fuck me,” he breathed, his hips once again trying to buck up deeper into John’s beautiful, talented mouth. It drew a groan from John, sending vibrations up the length of Phillip’s dick still in his mouth. One of his hands reached out in a flash, grabbing onto John’s hair. “Holy—God fucking—John!”

John’s eyes flicked up, meeting his gaze as he drew back, his cheeks hollowed as he sucked and his lips shining with spit.

Phillip loosened his hold on his hair, taking a breath shaky with the effort of not coming just yet despite John’s concerted efforts. “’M not gonna last—shit,” he started to say, but was derailed yet again by watching his dick disappear into John’s mouth. He watched, his hand never moving from John’s hair, as John’s nose came to rest in the light brown hairs surrounding the base of his dick.

He felt his dick jump in John’s throat—in his throat, holy fucking shit, first of all. It drew another low groan from him, sending more vibrations through Phillip’s body and pushing him closer and closer towards the edge. Phillip watched John’s blue eyes flutter closed briefly in utter satisfaction, and felt his fingers dig into the soft skin on his inner thigh. It was as beautiful as it was obscenely hot.

“Jesus fucking Christ, John, I’m close,” he managed, his voice tight. “Where—”

John’s eyes snapped to his, and the arm wrapped around his leg tightened its hold. He swallowed.

Phillip’s mouth dropped open silently, and he only barely resisted rolling his hips up into John’s mouth as his orgasm hit him with all the grace of a baseball bat to the head. He came down John’s throat with a punched-out gasp that faded into a low whine, one hand still buried in his hair, the other gripping the bedspread while his vision swam. He felt John swallow around him again, the muscles in his neck squeezing his cock perfectly while he enjoyed the sheer force and magnitude of pleasure currently making his toes curl and his head feel fuzzy in a way he couldn’t remember experiencing previously.

When the high eventually eased, Phillip finally untangled his fingers from John’s hair and didn’t quite collapse onto the bed, but it was a near thing. His limbs sort of felt like jello, and his brain was only a little better than that. He felt John pull off of him, then felt the edge of the bed dip when he used it to stand up. Fuck, he needed to do things. He wasn’t exactly sure which things, given this was a vastly different scenario than previous encounters. But he’d feel like an asshole later if he didn’t at least try.

He sat up in time to see John disappear into the adjoining bathroom, and he was too tired to overthink why. Instead, he reached down to grab his underwear back from the floor, only to stop when he found them on the bed within reach. That was definitely not where he’d seen John drop them. Okay. He put them on, finally just ditching his shirt, figuring he’d be getting into pajamas not too long after this anyway.

John returned, carrying the two plastic cups the hotel had supplied in the room. One was empty, the other was full, and he offered the latter to Phillip. “Drink, if you want.”

“Thanks,” he said, accepting the cup more for something to do than for a need for water. But he took a couple sips before reaching out to put on the desk near the foot of the bed.

John reached a hand out as he was settling back onto the bed, carefully combing calloused fingers through his hair. Phillip had no doubt it was sticking up at odd angles. John seemed to have fixed his hair, which was only slightly disappointing, because he’d wanted to see what he’d done to it. He leaned into the touch. John’s hand left his hair, skimming the side of his face until it was under his chin, tilting his face up towards John.

“Enjoyed that, did you?” he asked.

Phillip hummed. “Funny thing. Sex is a lot more fun when you’re genuinely attracted to someone.” John rolled his eyes, letting his hand drop to his side. Phillip went on. “Speaking of which, you want a hand there?” It was kind of hard to miss, considering he was roughly eye-level with the noticeable bulge at the front of John’s jeans. “Or is that something Nik gets to deal with later?”

John paused and half-sat on the edge of the desk with a small grimace of discomfort, appearing to consider his options. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table, then at the door back out to the rest of the hotel. Finally, he looked back over at Phillip for a few seconds before he shrugged and stood up, putting his empty cup down on the desk. “Fine. Get up.” Phillip stood up. John grabbed his chin carefully and kissed him firmly. “Let’s see if your handling skills are any good, for an American.”

[ambivalentmarvel]

so the story behind this is that @sreppub​ arrived in my dms saying “sitcom starring two uppity, former rich guys and a regular poor college kid who follow up an online ad and become roommates” and i said something along the lines of “your MIND” and here we are. she does the art, i do the fic, and we both yell a lot along the way. read it on here or ao3 and enjoy!!

The Sitcom Supreme

If Peter or Stephen were around to hear Tony tell the story of how they all ended up rooming together, they would have plenty of objections, to which he would call them both dirty liars, to which they would gang up on him because they’re terrible and like that, to which he would probably throw up his hands in exasperation and/or make the mistake of engaging them in a debate, to which they would grin like wolves because, once again, they’re terrible and like that, but Tony’s the asshole who put up the Craigslist ad, so he gets to start—because he’s terrible and like that.

It’s a common trait amongst the three of them, what can he say?

The beginning of the story does not involve either of the other two, however. It begins with Rhodey, who is only occasionally terrible and like that. Rhodey has been Tony’s best friend since the tender age of fifteen. Considering Tony at age fifteen was a greasy little douche bag with too much money and a whole bunch of daddy issues that were somehow more obvious then than they are in the present, this is an impressive feat. 

Where things start, Rhodey and Tony are roommates at MIT, which is Howard’s school of choice to shove his problem child onto. Tony is supposed to get a single dorm room, but there’s a cockroach problem in that building. Administration has to get creative, which is how Rhodey, fresh out of boot for the fall semester, gets saddled with approximately one hundred and fifty pounds of neglected teenage boy who has only kind of gone through puberty.

The first words out of Tony’s mouth are blunt: “Any chance you have plans to drop out?”

And Rhodey looks at him with a raised brow, efficiently unpacked and totally unimpressed with the enormous stack of Tony’s things wavering in the doorway. “You have any plans to quit being annoying?” he retorts, which set the tone for their entire relationship.

Tony loves him to pieces. 

He’s the older brother he never knew he needed, yanking him by his collar from frat parties on the weekends and to his house for holidays because getting swamped by Rhodey’s six younger siblings is infinitely better than having to wear a suit and tie for Christmas dinner with six CEOs and maybe some senators, depending on the year. In return, Tony sees him through every finals week of his collegiate career, during which Rhodey gets so nervous he usually pukes at least daily and pulls so many all-nighters Tony memorizes the exact shade of red his eyes are at the end.

So, it’s safe to say they get along well. They get along so well, as a matter of fact, that when they stare at each other after their graduation ceremony for their Masters—a two-year process for both of them, and Rhodey receives two degrees to Tony’s four—surrounded by Rhodey’s family and Jarvis, Tony’s lips curl in a smirk Rhodey knows spells the best kind of trouble. “What do you say we keep the roommate streak alive, yeah? Howard’s building an office in New York, and I’m thinking of doing a doctorate at NYU.”

Rhodey’s brows raise, but he’s grinning, so Tony already knows his answer. “Depends. Are you still gonna’ snore?”

“Are you still gonna’ have a stick up your a—”

Mama Rhodes shoots Tony a look from where she’s trying to corral the rest of her kids.

“—butt?” he finishes with a sheepish glance her way.

Rhodey does not even remotely have a stick up his ass, but of the two of them, he features in tabloids far, far less, which Tony somehow uses to his advantage.

“You know it,” Rhodey replies, and so they find a fancy penthouse that Tony mostly pays for, with the excuse of Rhodey satisfying his part of rent via generally covering Tony’s ass to the best of his ability. And he has a lot of ability, honed from years upon years of Tony self-destructing at the drop of a hat, but there’s only so much he can do, especially as his military career just keeps flying higher and Howard just keeps pushing Tony harder.

A few sex tapes, especially wild benders, and crashed cars later, when Howard cuts Tony off and tells him, quote, “I won’t speak to you until you learn to do something other than disappoint me”, Rhodey very gracefully still shacks up with him in their considerably less fancy apartment.

This is all important to know, contrary to what someone whose name may or may not rhyme with Tephen Trange might say about Tony’s “long-winded” and “overly-complicated” storytelling tendencies because it explains exactly why Rhodey is a traitor.

Is Carol a very cool lady who could kick Tony’s ass? Yes. Is she sickeningly cute with Rhodey and not just because a smile from her makes him melt into a pile of fucking goo on the floor? Also yes. Does it probably make more sense for Tony to find roommates who will actually be around to monitor his—allegedly—poor mental health and self-care habits? Okay, fine, yes, but the bottom line is, Rhodey is moving in with Carol and abandoning Tony, and nobody said he had to like it.

(This is not strictly true, what with the approximately ten conversations Rhodey and he have had about his happiness and how, if Tony needs him, all he has to do is say the word and he’ll be back, but Tony has always had a flair for the dramatic.)

The whole idea is that Tony will find someone gone less than Rhodey with all his military business to enjoy having around the apartment. It’s technically a three-bedroom, but he and Rhodey use the extra one for storage. Fortunately or unfortunately, that storage area has become a lot of junk they go through before Rhodey makes his grand exit, and Tony suddenly has the option of having two roommates.

The ad is a low point, he can admit that, but there is a flaw in what Tony loudly calls Rhodey’s master plan to leave him alone to wallow in misery: Tony doesn’t exactly have a lot of friends, nevermind people who he’d want to live with.

“Rhodey. Honeybear. Platypus.”

“The nicknames are old, and you need to stop using them around Carol. She called me Platypus last night during sex, and it ruined the whole mood.”

“You poor thing.”

“She thought it was hilarious.”

If Tony has to lose Rhodey to anybody, by God, Carol is his first choice by a long shot.

“Anyway, as I was saying, Sourpatch—”

“I hate you.”

“—how am I supposed to find someone else to live with?”

Tony is thirty-two and regularly speaks out with all of four people: Pepper, Rhodey, Carol, and Happy. Unfortunately, Happy works in Stark Industries’ California branch and has stated rather firmly that he’s not interested in transferring to the city, Pepper wouldn’t live with another person for love or money, and the other two are spoken for.

It’s a terrible situation to be in, honestly.

“Craigslist,” Rhodey deadpans, fighting with some packing tape.

Tony feels his heart stop beating in real time from his place folding some of Rhodey’s clothes into a plastic tub. His head snaps up, and his jaw drops, absolutely affronted. “You would suggest that I, even disowned and stripped of my former glory—” Tony has several million dollars in the stock market, but that’s neither here nor there and isn’t much compared to the fact that he was supposed to be a billionaire. “—would stoop to looking for live-in friends on Craigslist?”

Rhodey looks up to meet his eyes, unfazed. He’s used to Tony’s antics after nearly two decades of friendship. “Well, I’m not moving out until you have at least one person guaranteed to take my place, so unless you have any better ideas, yeah.” He shrugs—just shrugs, as if he isn’t advising Tony to scrape the bottom of the fucking barrel in terms of reliable people to regularly fall asleep around.

It’s insulting.

“I’m not putting out an ad for a roommate on Craigslist,” he protests, shoving the next horribly colored polo into the tub with disdain.

That night, he tears up thinking about stopping Rhodey from being happy with Carol, and the post is up by the time Rhodey gets up—stupidly early, like normal—for his morning run. Along with his contact information and a few blurry pictures of the place, it includes a blurb about the circumstances.

Best friend moving out. Need a roommate or I will die of Sadness. His girlfriend is cool but hewas mind first. Carol, I am watching you. Two rooms open for business. But not sketchy business. You can just lve there. Current resident (me) is cool and very charming. I am a man. No dumb fuck offers. Thanks.

It could use some work, but Tony’s never been great with words, even less so when he’s crying to rock ballads at two in the morning. He edits it when he wakes up, and by noon that day, it’s looking better.

At seven o’clock that evening, he receives one of two messages that actually work out.

Enter the first offender: Peter Parker.

Peter, Tony will learn, is nineteen, attending NYU—like Tony did, which is a sign, really—for a double major in biochemistry and physics, and has the worst luck of anyone Tony’s ever met.

Rhodey’s moving out in a week—he’s been putting off finding a roommate for a while, alright—and Peter has to legally be out of his dorm in three days. That is quite the predicament, and Tony, by nature, is a curious creature. He is not, however, one for beating around the bush. That results in a text that reads exactly this.

Tony: What the hell did you do?

He could hack through the university files, but explanations are always more fun with a personal touch that’s lacking in, say, an incident report. Tony watches a bubble with three blinking dots for a long, long time, and the reply is surprisingly sparse—sparse enough, in fact, for Tony to have more questions than answers when he receives it.

Unknown Sender: theres been a few things but the kicker was the fire

Tony: The fire?

Unknown Sender: i tried to make popcorn and the microwave blew up

Now that is some problematic behavior Tony can get behind. He amends the kid’s previously non-existent contact information.

Tony: How can they kick you out for that? That’s not your fault.

Roommate (?) Peter: it blacked out the power on the entire first floor

Tony: And?

Roommate (?) Peter: last month i got the blame for contaminating half the campus water supply

Roommate (?) Peter: so i was already on thin ice

Tony: Accidentally?

Roommate (?) Peter: idk sometimes things just happen to me

Tony doesn’t know how to respond to that. If Rhodey knew, he’d never let him live it down. He can hear his annoying laugh in his ears like a premonition—“Hah—Tony, speechless?”—but then there are the dots again and a simple message to follow the last, a touch pathetic.

Roommate (?) Peter: please let me move in

Tony likes him.

Peter shows up on the stairs of the complex thirty-six hours after Tony posted the ad with a backpack and a meager total of six beat-to-shit boxes. The backpack holds nearly all of his school supplies, which makes Tony, in retrospect, genuinely fearful for the integrity of his spine, and the contents of the boxes are sorted, as Tony will learn, into three categories that each have two boxes in them. The categories are fairly simple—clothing, necessities, and whatever other shit he could fit from his dorm—and leave Peter with thrilling possessions such as an entire collection of truly atrocious shirts with science puns on them, a gallon of hand soap, and any food he had in his cupboards.

Thankfully, Rhodey is out furniture shopping with Carol when Tony goes out to meet him, which solves the problem of Rhodey going into overbearing caretaker mode at the sight of a beanpole of a kid failing to manage their life successfully. As someone who has been made many a you-haven’t-eaten-a-meal-in-two-days-and-I’m-secretly-a-panicking-mother-hen casserole, Tony counts his blessings.

Tony waves. “Peter?” he asks, reluctantly changed out of his pajamas for the day.

The kid nods. “That’s me. And you’re Tony?”

“Guilty as charged. Want a hand with those boxes?” he asks, watching Peter lift three at a time.

“No, I got it,” he insists, and then the box on top slides out of his grip and onto the sidewalk.

Peter stares at it for a second before he lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Maybe I could use some help,” he admits, and with much struggle, the two of them, each with three boxes, waddle inside. There is a moment and only one moment where Tony thinks that it might be nice to have some extra assistance, but with another thought of the things Rhodey would do at the sight of a woefully inept college kid, Tony decides it’s for the best.

Tony leads the operation, considering he has the key and also knows explicitly where they’re going, and he would have to say his biggest complaint about the ordeal is that Sam, who lives in the apartment below Tony and Rhodey with Steve and Bucky, happens to open his door as they walk by.

Being an asshole, he has something to say about it. “Need some help, shellhead?” he crows.

Tony wishes he had a free hand to flip him off.

“Watch your back, Wilson,” he growls in return, a continuation of the beef the five of them have maintained since they met approximately seven years ago, when they all moved in on the same day and kept knocking into each other’s shit in the halls.

When they reach the top of the next flight of stairs and Tony starts to fumble with the key, Peter asks about it. “So—uh—who was that?”

“That was Sam. Part of the deal with moving in is that you harass him and the other two idiots who live with him. He also responds to jackass, douchecanoe, or birdbrain.”

“Birdbrain?”

“It’s an old joke. He had a rather—” Tony grunts, forced to set down his load to unlock the door, “—spectacular run-in with some pigeons a few years ago.”

“Oh.”

“They shat on him. A lot.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a good nickname,” Tony assures him, throwing open the door with his arms flung wide for dramatic flair. “Welcome to Casa Stark. I mean, I guess it’s Casa Stark-Parker now, but if we’re hyphenating, my name goes first because I lived here first.” He holds up a finger as if to stall Peter, who has yet to speak from where his mouth is decidedly blocked by the aforementioned three boxes he is carrying. “And I know what you’re going to say—that Parker-Stark works better because it’s alphabetical—but that is where you are wrong because letters have no place in this house. Numbers are much preferred, and we play by seniority here, anyway.”

He gives Peter a meaningful look that he cannot see because, once again, boxes.

“More on that, by the way—”

“Hey, Tony?” 

He cuts him off which is, objectively, rude, but Tony rarely gets along with people who aren’t a little curt with him from time to time. This is a positive sign, really, so he allows it.

“Yeah?” 

“This can be Casa Stark-Parker, but can we get to somewhere I can set these down? My arms are, like, going to give out on me.”

Not even ten minutes in, and he’s already learned the art of bargaining. Tony’s proud, and he ushers him inside without any more monologues and a grin stretched across his face.

Peter, by virtue of moving in before Rhodey is out, ends up with the room that is no longer being used for storage. Tony has several questions for him, beginning with the fact that, despite the six packets of instant noodles he bothered to bring, he does not appear to have a mattress. Or a desk. Or a dresser. Or anything that’s supposed to go in a room.

His solutions for Tony’s concerns are as follows.

In place of a bed, he has two blankets, one to put on the floor and one to cover himself with. He was planning on sitting on the floor to do schoolwork instead of using a desk. And finally, he was going to leave his clothes in the boxes.

This is all relayed to Tony with an earnest gleam in his eyes and a smile.

Tony blinks in disbelief. Then, very eloquently, he says, “Kid, that is the saddest shit I have ever heard. Aren’t your parents helping you with the move to an apartment?”

The kid shifts from foot to foot, shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing to the side.

Tony’s eyes narrow. As someone who is extremely well-versed in avoidance tactics, he feels very confident in saying that is definitely a fucking avoidance tactic.

“About that,” he begins, “first of all, I’m an orphan.” Jesus Christ. “Second of all, my aunt doesn’t exactly—uh—know I got kicked out of the dorms.”

That is all interesting information, to say the least, but luckily, Tony thrives under pressure.

“Alright. I can respect that.”

It’s not like he never hid anything from his parents. Evading his aunt is Peter’s problem, not Tony’s. None of this is Tony’s problem, really, except then he looks around the room and wonders which of Peter’s boxes are holding his two blankets.

Tony was concerned about Rhodey, but he can’t stop himself.

“But I’m also gonna’ level with you—you’re not sleeping on the ground. You can take the couch.”

The until I get you a proper bed frame and mattress goes unsaid, but sometimes things like that are better as surprises. It’ll be a fun housewarming gift, Tony thinks, and by the time the shipment from IKEA arrives containing both of those things and the aforementioned missing dresser and desk, there will be a third roommate to help put it all together, not that either of them know it yet.

That night, Rhodey and Carol show up with enough ingredients for lasagna to serve four, and Tony delights in showing off Peter as they cook because now he has a “super cool roommate too! Take that, Platypus.”

Rhodey glances to Peter. “If you’re being held hostage, blink twice.”

“Hey!” Tony protests. He is a perfectly lovable roommate, thank you very much, and he’s so offended, he’s not even going to let Rhodey know about his mission to furnish Peter’s room.

God bless her, Carol just laughs.

The four of them get along with surprising ease, considering Peter’s only been around for a few hours. Peter even tries to help with the lasagna, but Tony has a near-photographic memory and has not remotely forgotten the popcorn incident, however vaguely it was described.

“You just sit there and be a nicer person than Rhodey,” he urges him, and Peter nods, hiding his grin behind his hand at the argument that starts.

Once everyone is done, he and Rhodey get suckered into dish duty while Carol spirits Peter off to the living room, claiming she has to warn him about what he’s getting into. Tony doesn’t care enough to complain, and when her back is turned, he splashes a plate of suds onto Rhodey’s front. 

Rather than rise to the bait, however, he raises his brows, slipping into what Tony affectionately calls his big-brother-giving-a-stern-talking-to mode. “You have to be a good example for him, Tones.”

Tony blinks. “I’m sorry, did you just say—”

“I’m serious!” They keep their voices mostly down, but Rhodey’s rises a bit with the declaration.

“He’s nineteen—an adult, in case you forgot. He signed the lease all on his own and everything,” he hisses back incredulously.

He thought he dodged the bullet by not disclosing just how underprepared Peter is to live in an apartment, but Rhodey’s head dips. Tony braces himself for the part of his big-brother-giving-a-stern-talking-to mode where he tells Tony he’s making a bullshit excuse and needs to get it together. “Don’t give me that. He’s a baby adult at best, and you know it.”

Yep, there it is.

“That’s still an adult!”

It is! Tony was on his own way earlier than nineteen. This is not a big deal, no matter how outlandish Peter’s circumstances are for moving out of NYU’s dorms.

“Watch his back.”

Tony scoffs. “It’s not like I was going to feed him to the wolves. I’m barely thirty—I’m not his dad.”

“Tony.”

Ah, the final, crushing blow of this version of Rhodey: his name—but with emphasis.

Tony sighs. “Fine,” he acquiesces. “I solemnly swear I will not let him get up to no good.”

A beat. Rhodey squints at him, slowly lowering the plate he’s holding into the sink. “You told me you refused to read Harry Potter.”

Shit.

Back when the books were first coming out, Rhodey was insufferably obsessed with them, and Tony loves him, but emotionally, he couldn’t handle having Rhodey think he was willing to discuss anything having to do with the series for longer than thirty seconds. Thus, he read the books—everyone in the world was doing the same, okay, and he cannot stand being out of the loop—but lied to Rhodey about it.

And now, he’s been made.

Rhodey and he launch into a very spirited discussion that draws Carol and Peter back to the kitchen, and despite the vein throbbing dangerously in Rhodey’s forehead, the promise has been made.

The day after Rhodey moves out, he and Peter manage to flood the bathroom.

In Tony’s defense, he only promised to look out for Peter. He said nothing about curbing his own dumbass tendencies, and it’s not like Bucky’s bedroom is all that damaged by the leak that Tony fixes before it’s really even a problem.

He and Peter settle into a nice sense of camaraderie, and Tony, content with his situation, forgets to take down his Craiglist ad that, logically speaking, someone would have to dig to find at this point, over a week after initially posting it.

Then, he receives a text that is as simple as it is effective: Is there still an available room in the apartment?

Enter the second offender: Stephen Strange.

Ahem, Doctor Stephen Strange, technically, but Tony has six PhDs. Nobody sees him going around making people call him Doctor Stark, and that’s because it makes him sound pretentious and stuffy, both things Tony prides himself on not being. However, Tony likes to push buttons, and very little gets Stephen worked up as fast as someone ignoring his credentials.

It’s a fun set-up, really, but annoying the piss out of Stephen is something that comes a little later—Tony’s not there yet in the story.

He humors the text, and after getting a read on things, he bursts into the living room, startling Peter nearly off the couch. He’s been doing his homework there and on the coffee table in front of it because the Swedish have many things but fast shipping is, apparently, not one of them, not that Peter knows there’s anything to be waiting on, but he’s getting off-topic.

Peter lets out a short yelp and presses a hand over his heart, both things that Tony ignores.

“We have a situation,” he announces.

“I swear I didn’t do it,” Peter defends pleadingly.

Tony is trying to teach him that messing things up is expected and, especially in particularly magnificent cases, admired in Casa Stark-Parker, but it’s a work in progress.

“I know you didn’t—don’t be ridiculous,” he waves his concerns off. “We are talking bigger than setting things on fire by accident. I bring you, my young protege, the proposition of—” A pause for dramatic effect. “—another roommate.”

“Ooh,” Peter says appropriately, setting his textbook down to examine the texts Tony brandishes. He begins to scroll, but while he does, Tony figures he can go ahead and fill him in on the essentials. It’s a very juicy situation, after all, and he can’t help himself.

“His name is Stephen Strange. He’s a neurosurgeon, but he got into a pretty bad car wreck that messed up his hands. He’s trying to save money while he goes to physical therapy—he apparently has a chance of recovery, but it’s a ways off—and that includes downsizing on where he lives.”

“I mean, yikes, but that’s an oddly specific backstory.”

“I’m glad you think that too, but I am intrigued. I looked him up, and he’s a real person—has a basically flawless reputation, or at least he did before his accident. Thoughts?”

Please say yes, please say yes, Tony thinks. The chance of a competent human—not including Rhodey, who looks more put together than he really is next to the chaos Tony perpetually dwells in—choosing to live with him is too fascinating to pass up, and he needs Peter to see that too.

Peter shrugs. “I’m down if you are. How old is he?”

Victory!

Satisfaction floods Tony, but he tries to maintain his cool.

“Thirty.”

Peter blows out a long breath, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. “I didn’t anticipate moving into a nursing home,” he remarks dryly.

What a little shit.

It’s worth noting half the reason Rhodey left so easily is because he said he trusted Peter to keep Tony on his toes. Then again, that Tony likes being snarked at is a large part of why they get along so well despite only knowing each other for a matter of days.

“You’re the worst, Parker. I’m going to feed you to the hooligans downstairs. Steve has a monster appetite, you know.”

Peter hums, picking his textbook back up. “Not if I feed you to them first. And, Tony?”

“What?”

“Only old people say hooligans.”

Tony thinks about that one book, Give a Mouse a Cookie or whatever. Except in his case, it’s Rent a Teenager an Apartment, and Tony doesn’t have to adhere to the literary equivalent of a G-rating.

His response to the dig is creative and colorful, and Peter laughs.

Four days and a brief conversation at a coffee shop later—a formality he and Peter did not do and probably something Tony should’ve thought of as the older adult before giving him the address—Stephen’s team of movers invade the apartment.

The man himself stands like a drill sergeant at the last flights of stairs it takes to get to the apartment, arms crossed, beard wild, conducting activity.

Peter and Tony share their evaluations, peeking their head out from the doorway when it’s unoccupied by movers and Stephen isn’t looking their way. This involves quite a bit of ducking, but they are very careful not to be caught.

(Someone’s whose name may or may not rhyme with Tephen Trange later informs that “they were not at all subtle” and “were, in fact, very embarrassing”, but that’s how things with the three of them generally are, so Tony figures it was a good crash course to how life together goes.)

“He’s kind of scraggly,” Peter whispers, his head under Tony’s because he’s the shorter of the two of them, something Tony delights in refuting Peter’s quips about his age with.

“Kind of? He looks like a hobo.”

It’s true, okay? Facially, at least, the guy is a wreck. He’s not quite to Einstein levels of bad hair day, but he’s getting there.

“Be nice,” Peter chastises him. He’s gentler than Rhodey when he does it, but considering neither of them ever shut the hell up and they have thus bonded very easily over the course of their short relationship, it’s gotten to feel as natural as most of their interactions.

“All I’m saying is that I am happy to retain my place as the most attractive person in the apartment, okay?”

They’re forced to retreat from the entryway as another load comes through, and Peter looks at him disbelievingly. “Dream on,” he replies bluntly.

Tony gasps in offense.

Peter shrugs. “Look, I’m just gonna’ say it—you knew Rhodey before me, and now that I’m here—” he trails off, looking at Tony in faux-sympathy that doesn’t match the mischievous glint in his eyes.

While it is true that Rhodey is a fine specimen of a man—yet another reason Tony can’t, in good conscience, be truly angry Carol mooched him away from the bachelor lifestyle—Tony can’t cede that easily for the sake of his pride, and he scowls. “I am going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

They’re still bickering as the movers finish up and Stephen enters the apartment, dressed in what Tony recognizes as the latest from Armani and Tom Ford.

He may not get invited to fashion week anymore, but he still has taste, alright, even if Rhodey limits him to one designer purchase a month.

(Rhodey isn’t around to see what packages he orders now, Tony thinks but shelves the thought for later.)

Tony and Stephen met over coffee, and all three of them said hi to one another before the moving business officially began. However, there is a little stiffness in the air, make no mistake. It’s not Stephen’s fault, exactly, because he’s just kind of a foreboding guy, but still.

It figures that Peter would break the ice. As Tony’s found and will continue to discover, Peter is just as talkative as him. Granted, that trait usually appears in the form of rambling about something from class, but it’s not surprising that his natural passion for life comes through with someone about to be very, very involved in it. 

“Hi!” he begins. “Are all of the movers gone now?”

Stephen raises an unimpressed brow. “Yes.”

His reply is seriously lacking enthusiasm, but Tony isn’t allowed the opportunity to jump on that as Peter keeps going. 

“Sweet! Okay, so welcome to Casa Stark-Parker.”

Woah, woah, woah—timeout.

Tony frowns, raising a hand in a motion for Peter to stop. “I thought that was my thing?” he interjects.

“Well, it has my name in it, so it gets to be both of our things,” Peter replies, then furrows his brow, looking to Stephen. “Actually, since you’re here now, I guess it’s Casa Stark-Parker-Strange. Order’s based on who got here first, sorry,” he explains with a smile that Tony, now familiar with the fact that Peter has more to him than meets the eye, notes is a touch impish.

Tony is pleased to see, despite his generally wholesome appearance, the kid has at least picked up on the power of staking a claim.

Stephen blinks. His hands, Tony has noticed, don’t stop shaking, not even when he folds his arm across his chest, like a physical barrier between him and Peter’s excitement. “Okay?” he drawls slowly, confusedly.

“Tony’s rules, not mine,” Peter assures him as if he doesn’t just want the satisfaction of having his name not be the last in the line-up.

Tony scoffs. “Oh okay, so now we’re throwing me under the bus?”

“You have to take responsibility for your actions, Tony.”

“Oh, sure thing,” he replies, tone betraying that he does not, in fact, think any responsibility is at all necessary. He looks to Stephen, rolling his eyes. “Can you believe what I have to put up with? And it’s barely been a week.”

Stephen blinks again. “I see it’s a lot,” he says measuredly.

Peter gasps, unaffected. “Oh my God, we should make a sign for it,” he enthuses. “We can put it up on the door, and we’d be so much cooler than Sam and them.”

To say that Peter rose to the challenge of bothering their downstairs neighbors with zeal is something of an understatement. 

Tony is, honestly, a fan of the sign idea, especially if it were to light up, but that is where Stephen cuts in, his hands still trembling as he gestures. “Can we slow down for a moment?” He looks carefully from Tony and Peter and back again, bearing the appearance of a man in the throes of realizing he has made a bad decision. 

Tony knows that look well. It usually shows up when Rhodey agrees to one of Tony’s ideas and doesn’t realize just how badly constructed it is until it’s too late.

“First of all, I am fairly certain my car is parked illegally, and before we get too far, I need to fix it before I get towed. And secondly,” Tony watches Stephen’s lips curl in a self-satisfied, I-totally-think-I’m-better-than-you-even-if-I’m-not-technically-saying-it smile, “I am not here to be part of any Casa. I am waiting for physical therapy to work for me, and then I will be out of your hair. I appreciate being able to live here, but—”

Yeah, Tony’s had enough of that. Personally, he would like to thank Rhodey, who, in a way, begins and ends the story, and truly is the greatest best friend a man could have for teaching him how to properly deal with pompous rich people.

“Nuh-uh, none of that. If you’re living here, you’re a part of Casa Stark-Parker-Strange whether you like it or not.”

Stephen looks downright appalled that someone would dare to interrupt him, which, Tony knows from experience, is exactly the kind of shock rich people need to go through. He splutters for a second before he manages to get out a reply, “That was not in the lease.”

Tony spreads his hands as if to say what can you do? “And you didn’t mention in your texts that you were going to try to be a bump on a log, but here we are.”

Perhaps sensing the mounting animosity in the room or maybe just as excited as Tony to have someone to bother, Peter takes advantage of Stephen’s overwhelmed and bewildered state.

“First day with all three of us!” he shouts. “Picture!”

And before anyone can protest—including Tony, who would prefer to be documented in something other than a Black Sabbath tee and his work pants—Peter leans in with the camera on his phone ready to capture the moment.

In the resulting photo, Tony looks vaguely alarmed, Stephen looks pissed as hell, and Peter wears a grin that stretches across his whole face. The whole thing is blurry, and they eventually get it framed.

It’s a beautiful and fitting start to their time as roommates, and in the humble eyes of the asshole who posted the Craigslist ad, that is how the story of how they came to live together went.

[tiffdawg]

Curriculum Vitae: Chapter Three

Gif: @javier-pena

curriculum vitae noun cur·ric·u·la vi·tae Latin. the course of one's life.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (fem; no y/n)

Word Count: 3.1k

Rated: M  | Warnings: Intense gazing. Mild language.

Chapter Summary: In this chapter, you start to see a different side to Javier Peña as he struggles to adjust to academia.

A/N: Thank you for your comments and support on the last chapter! I'm so excited that someone is actually enjoying this story and I hope you know that literally every comment takes me out for twenty minutes because they make me so stupidly happy. I love you all!

Read on AO3

CV Masterlist | My Masterlist

… . …

Chapter Three

When you entered your lecture hall on Wednesday morning, once again affording Peña plenty of time to clear out, the scene from Monday repeated itself almost verbatim. He was at the podium, shoulders slightly hunched and hands grasping either side of the cherry wood, surrounded by an excited crowd of students. You’d hoped you would miss him entirely – especially after what had happened in the library – but it seemed luck was not on your side. So, you sipped idly at the lukewarm remnants in your cardboard coffee cup, figuring you might as well watch the show. Speaking sure as hell never seemed to work well for the two of you.

The only difference was that this time, he noticed you right away. You suddenly felt self-conscious in your simple black trousers and modest blouse under his intense scrutiny, and you wondered what he was looking for as he stared at you for just a moment too long. You half-expected him to make some caustic remark. While neither of you had been particularly kind to the other the night before, you probably would’ve deserved it. His words had stung, but it was nothing you hadn’t heard a hundred times before. While you didn’t exactly regret anything you had said, you did wonder if you might’ve struck too deep a nerve. Instead, he turned to his students and told them to talk to him during his office hours.

“When are your office hours, sir?” a young man asked, the same overeager student from Monday.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I know,” he said dismissively, scratching his brow. With that, the students started to wander off and you parted the sea of stragglers to get to the chalkboard. You intended to use it for your lecture and there was a scrawling mess of some Cyrillic language, no doubt not from Peña’s class. However, he beat you to the eraser.

“I’ve got this, doctora.”

You actually felt your head tilt to the side and it strangely reminded you of the way Sunny cocked her head when you spoke to her. Like she recognized your voice, heard your words, but didn’t understand the language. His kindness surprised you and you weren’t sure if he was taunting you with his new diminutive of choice or attempting to apologize in his own strange way. At least doctora was accurate, and it was a hell of a lot better than sweetheart. “Thanks,” you offered hesitantly, “I think.”

When he finished erasing the first panel and moved to the second, you picked up a scrap of chalk and started writing a list of key terms and important names you didn’t want to have to bother with during your lecture. All the while, you hated the way your eyes kept casting to the side, stealing unintentional glances at Peña. Your hand idled as you lost your focus in favor examining the way he moved even as he did something as simple and mundane as clear a chalkboard. But, as ridiculous as it was, you found that you were unable to stop yourself from watching the pull of his light gray suit jacket around his body or the clap of his hands as he attempted to remove the chalk dust.

And in your folly, he caught you.

He smirked at you as he adjusted his boldly pattern tie that should’ve been left in the previous decade and you turned back to your vocabulary list with warm cheeks and added the last few letters to the word you’d abandoned. Then, just as you thought he was about to leave, he took a seat in the last row.

To say you were confused would’ve been an understatement. Bewildered or baffled might’ve been more apt descriptors, but even those words seemed lacking. Deciding not to let Javier Peña distract you from your job any more than he already had that morning, you pulled out your lecture notes and focused on what really mattered: your class and your students. Not the man intently watching your every move.

… . …

Apparently, even visiting lecturers had to attend the weekly Thursday morning faculty meeting.

As Javier sat at the furthest end of the conference room table, only half listening to the department chair drone on about the new graduation requirements for undergraduate sociology majors and minors, he seriously debated the necessity of his presence. Dr. Campbell, as he’d quickly learned the first time that he spoke with the man over the phone a few weeks ago, had a preference for five-dollar words and loved the sound of his own voice. It was amazing he was as long-winded as he was considering the tightness of the obnoxious canary yellow bow tie around his neck. Javier pulled at his own tie, already loose and askew, suddenly feeling constricted by it. Aside from the fact that Campbell’s rundown on the new procedures seemed unnecessary –the regular faculty looked like they’d heard this news a thousand times already – Javier knew he had very little function beyond drawing attention to the school of social sciences. Sure, he technically had to teach a handful of classes this year, which was itself a task proving even more difficult than he’d originally anticipated. But, at the end of the day, he was only there because of his reputation and to lend his name to the university. He only hoped that no one expected much more than that from him.

They’d only be disappointed.

He glanced down the table to where you sat taking occasional notes in between drawing something in the corner of your notebook. He wasn’t sure how, but you’d taken one look at him and figured him out. 

You don’t deserve to be here.

Your words from the other night echoed in his mind. While everyone else seemed intent on showering him with empty flattery and undue praise, you saw him for what he really was. And you were right. He definitely didn’t feel like he deserved to teach classes at a prestigious university, to hold any sort of position of prominence or power at an institution like this. He’d retired from the DEA, given up the only job he knew how to do, without any inclination of what he would do next. Accepting this job was nothing short of an unhappy accident that was the result of some sort of second-career-meets-midlife-crisis impasse. Come to think of it, he might’ve been drinking when he called Dr. Campbell and accepted his offer.

“I’ve but one final announcement before I release you all for the day. As is tradition, the planning this year’s student conference will fall to two of our youngest and brightest professors, so it should be no surprise which of you will assume the responsibility.” Campbell finally caught Javier’s attention when he gestured down the length of the table to you. You smiled brightly at the department chair and the rest of your coworkers. “You, my dear, have done a brilliant job in the past and I expect nothing less this year. And I’m sure our newest appointed professor, Dr. Sheffield, will be more than happy to assist and learn from you.”

“Fucking ecstatic,” the man next to him grumbled under his breath. He followed the man’s gaze back to you and watched your smile vanish. Looking back at Sheffield, he noted that he was younger than Javier, although not by much, and sturdily built but soft around the middle. His belt seemed to be cinched one notch too many. Definitely a beer drinker. There was something inherently boorish about the man and although he hadn’t noticed him until that exact moment, Javier decided that he didn’t like him.

“I’ll have Debra set up a meeting for the three of us sometime next week to discuss the issue further,” Campbell added, “And with that said I think we can consider this meeting adjourned. I do believe the Anthropology department has reserved the room for the upcoming hour, so we best leave them to it.” 

The other faculty and staff started filing out of the conference room, but evidently Sheffield felt Javier’s stare. He turned to him and offered a hand.

“Javier Peña, I presume.” The way he mispronounced his name was almost embarrassing. “Been looking forward to meeting you all week.”

“What an honor,” Javier drawled, shaking the sweaty proffered hand. 

“I’m Andrew Sheffield.” 

“I gathered that.”

Seemingly oblivious to his curt responses, Sheffield continued. “Let me know if you ever need anything, man. And, if you’re into it, a couple of buddies of mine from the other departments golf on Sundays. You’re always welcome.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Javier responded, knowing he’d wouldn’t go golfing if his life depended on it, let alone with this guy.

“Cool, and like I said, happy to help.”

“You didn’t seem so happy to help your other colleague a minute ago.” He couldn’t stop himself. He’d been talking to Sheffield for all of a minute and he was already on his last nerve.

“Well, I, uh– I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sheffield stumbled, clearly flustered, “Besides, that’s different. She’s, well, you’ll see.”

“I’m sure,” Javier said, gathering his things and pushing back his chair. He slapped Sheffield’s shoulder, maybe a little harder than strictly necessary. “See you around, bud.”

… . …

By Friday, your hectic first week of the quarter had caught up to you. You were more than a little tired and couldn’t wait for the weekend. Still, you put on a smile as you prepared to start your lecture. You’d made a vow to yourself years ago that you would never become that jaded, joyless professor that made student’s lives miserable. It was for your own benefit as much as theirs.

You knew Peña didn’t have a class on Fridays – the lecture hall had been empty when you arrived that morning – so you were more than a little surprised when he showed up for your class. Just when you thought you weren’t going to have to deal with him that day, he quietly slipped into the back row.

You couldn’t escape the man.

At the same time, as much as you hated to admit it, you’d been looking for him everywhere you went on campus ever since your Wednesday lecture. His actions confounded you – you were sure he hated you after that night in the library, but yet, here he was attending your class again. For what reason? You had no clue.

Deciding it would be best to simply overlook Javier’s presence in your classroom, you started your lecture. However, you quickly discovered he was impossible to ignore. Especially considering the way his dark eyes trailed you, followed your every movement. It didn’t matter that he was sitting in the back of the room. You could feel him watching you.

It should’ve been annoying. Aggravating, even. 

But it was something else entirely. Something that ignited a slow, steady heat inside of you. Something you steadfastly refused to name.

Once again, he didn’t wait for you after your lecture, and you weren’t sure why that disappointed you.

… . …

“How was your anniversary?”

“It was actually really fun. We got a sitter and Henry took me to this fancy restaurant downtown he’d been to on business lunches. He’d mentioned wanting to take me before, but I was still surprised that he’d actually made a reservation on his own,” Beverly explained, forgetting all about her chicken salad, “I’m sure you can understand why – you’ve met my husband.”

The two of you were sitting at your usual bench near an especially green spot on campus. The shade of a beautifully overgrown Moreton bay fig tree shielded you from the bright sun and your feet rested against a sprawling root creeping under the bench. “That’s so romantic of him,” you gushed. You sighed dreamily, playing it up for her benefit.

“I know! I don’t think we’ve had a night out like that since our youngest was born. So, what? Two years ago!” She made an exaggerated exasperated expression and you snickered at her. “I didn’t know the man had it in him. But it was very swanky, and they had these little chocolate cakes that, like, oozed more chocolate when you cut into them. Apparently, that’s the new thing but I never get out so I’m behind on the times.” 

“Don’t feel bad,” you said as you stabbed at your container of sliced fruit, “I haven’t been on a date in months so I’m right there with you on that one.”

“We gotta fix that.” Bev nudged you playfully.

You made a discouraging face and shook your head. “No, thank you. I’ve got plenty to worry about right now without having to deal with a relationship.”

“Doesn’t have to be a relationship,” she countered in a singsong voice. 

“You really can’t be stopped, can you?” you asked with an amused laugh. She shook her head and took another bite of her lunch. “Relationship or not, dating is just too complicated. It’s too distracting.” 

“Maybe,” Bev conceded, “But there’s more to life than work, sweetie. As much as I complain about Henry, I really do love the man. And he loves me. That’s something special. I can’t help but want something like that for you too.” You loved Beverly, but sometimes you hated how perceptive she was. Without ever having to voice your own thoughts or desires – sometimes without even admitting them to yourself – she always saw the truth to your words. Work always came first for you. Often at the disadvantage of the rest of your life. When you were quiet for longer than she would’ve liked, she lightened the conversation. “Of course, whoever your person is, would have to be someone as equally spectacular as you, so it might take a while to find them. But we’ll work on it.”

You returned her soft smile with one of your own. “We’ll see. But I’m not sure that person is out there, so don’t hold your breath.” You held out your plastic container. “Cantaloupe?”

“You know that’s my favorite,” she laughed as she skewered a few slices for herself.

… . …

After your lecture and lunch with Bev, you walked home to pick up Sunny before returning to your office. Friday afternoons were usually quiet on campus as students and professors alike preferred not to schedule classes that day of the week, for obvious reasons. You still had quite a bit of work to do before you were free to enjoy the weekend and your dog made for good company. Sunny was small and quiet enough that no one ever noticed her when you snuck her into the office. She was a mild-mannered dog, and that day she alternated between sleeping on your lap and watching birds and students alike from the window while you made a decent dent in the pile of work you had to get through. 

She was as well behaved as always, but, unsurprisingly, a couple hours later she started to get restless and you took that as your cue to call it a night.

“Alright, let’s go home, girl,” you said to her as you gathered your things. You piled a few books into your tote, wavering for a moment on one particularly heavy tome you weren’t sure you wanted to haul back to your apartment before you tossed that one in too. You slide your flats back on, having had kicked them off while you worked, and reached for the door. As soon as it was open wide enough for Sunny to fit through, she sprinted out ahead of you.

“Shit!” you hissed taking off after her. She’d never done that before. “Get back here!”

Your eyes practically popped out of your head as she darted into an open office.

You burst into your colleague’s office, intent on dragging her out of there while apologizing profusely. Instead you froze at the sight before you. Sunny was perched on Javier Peña’s lap. To make matters worse, the devious little traitor was excitedly licking his face as he petted her, soothing her fur with a gentle hand. What was even more surprising than her wagging tail, was the goofy grin on his face. It was the kind of unrestrained smile that crinkled his eyes and made him look younger than his years. It was, for lack of a better word, charming.

“I take it this is your dog?” he asked, breaking you from your trance.

“Yeah,” you answered, shaking your head at the scene, “She– She really seems to like you,” you observed, not bothering to hide your confoundment.

“I can tell.” Sunny calmed down, panting happily as Peña scratched behind her perky ears. “At least one of you does,” he said, finally training his brown eyes on you.

“Eh, she likes everyone. Don’t read too much into it,” you said, shrugging off his insinuation. And it was true for the most part. Sunny was a friendly dog, but she did have a strong intuition when it came to people’s sense of character and she always knew who she didn’t like. Even you had to admit she was quite taken with Peña.

“What kind of dog is she?” he asked, turning his attention back to the dog on his lap.

“My best guess is some kind of border collie mix. All I know is Sunny is not a purebred and a bit of a runt, which is probably how she ended up on the street in the first place.”

“Sunny?” he said, cocking his head at you.

You huffed out a small laugh. “I found her on Sunset Boulevard. So, in a moment of sheer genius I called her Sunny as a temporary name before I found her owners or a new family to take her in,” you explained, “Turned out I was her new family and the next thing I knew she was responding to the name. It stuck.”

“She’s sweet. I’ve always liked dogs,” he said, quirking his brow as he looked up at you again, “You can trust their judgement.”

Pursing your lips, you made a noncommittal noise, not wanting to agree despite feeling the same way. With a final wet kiss to his cheek, Sunny hopped down from his lap and trotted over to your side, acting the part of the loyal pet. You glared at her as you quickly attached her lead to her collar, ensuring she wouldn’t cause any more trouble. She’d already provoked the first civil conversation between you and Peña – who knew what else she was capable of. You decided it was best if you took your leave before she caused another miracle. “Have a nice weekend, Peña.”

“You too, doctora,” he said with a smirk and a wink.

 ... . ...

Thank you for reading!

... . ...

Forever Tags: @leo-moon​ @readsalot73​ @frietiemeloen​ @huliabitch​

Curriculum Vitae Tags: @softpedropascal​ @roxypeanut​

[jawritter]

30 minutes til midnight....

Happy Birthday Dean pt. 2

A/n: whew this one took on a life of its own for me, hope you guys enjoy it! As always all mistakes are mine! If you want to be added to my tag list just let me know! Feedback welcome!!

**Warning** Smut, unprotected sex, language, angst, mean reader, heartbroken Dean. That’s about it I think...

Pairing: Dean x Reader eventually, Mentions of Sam x reader.

Word count: around 3970

Cross-posted on Wattpad.

Part 1! In case you missed it!!

You'd been sitting looking at your phone since you hung it up. Dean's deep rumble still ringing in your head. It was now a little before 1:30 am on Dean's birthday. You convinced yourself though, that it was just because you wanted to make sure the boys got home safe. Dean did say that they were only an hour out... It would only be right to wait up for them. Right?

You could almost hear your Uncle Bobby yell bullshit Y/N from the other side, and much as you didn't like to admit it, it made you smile. You missed that old man, especially on nights like this, when you stupidly let yourself get all in your feelings, and get yourself all wound up. He always seemed to know the right thing to say, just what you needed to hear to make your heart stop feeling like it weighs 200 lbs. 

Still, Uncle Bobby isn't here, and you got yourself in this mess, and now you're going to have to figure out what to do about it. 

You wouldn't believe how deep in denial you were in before tonight. Now though, now that it was out in the open of your attention span, it was like you just couldn't see around it to focus on anything else. 

Getting up to go and make another pot of coffee, and possibly spike it because you weren't even remotely tired, you staggered into the kitchen of the bunker. It was dark, and cold, and lonely. Much like your whole life seemed to have been. 

"Fitting," you thought to yourself as you put the coffee grounds into the pot and turned it on. 

That had been the majority of your life, cold and lonely. The thought of what it might feel like to have Dean's arms wrapped around you, warming you in a way you'd never been warmed before slipped past your fifty-foot thick walls into your subconscious. 

Thinking of Dean that way was something you had never allowed yourself to do before, but here you were, standing in the middle of a cold, dark kitchen of a decades-old building alone. Picturing yourself melting into the arms of the Adonis that was Dean Winchester. His thick strong biceps flexing as the wrap up around you. The tense of his upper arms as he pulled you impossibly gently into his tick, strong chest. Shoulders slightly hunched, holding you close.....

"Stop it Y/N!" you mentally slapped yourself hard enough to derail that train of thought before you could get carried away any further. 

Pouring the hot liquid into the cup you had waiting on the counter, you watched as the steam of the warm drink drifted up into the cold room. Sitting in the coffee pot back down, completely wrapping your hands around the cup, so wrapped up in the fact that you had zero fucking clue what to do with these newly discovered feelings you had for the eldest Winchester that you didn't even realize you had an audience. 

Turning around you walked face to mid-chest into Sam Winchester... 

"OOOF," was all you could say at first. Trying to get your rapidly speeding heart rate to slow down. "Jesus fucking Christ Sam! Warn a girl you standing behind her!" 

Sam laughed a little, sitting down his bag on the floor. 

"Well we yelled when we came in like you do, but you didn't say anything. So I thought were in bed. I just walked in when you ran into me." he said, sitting down at the table and patting the seat across from him so that you would join him.

You took your seat silently, you had a feeling you knew what was coming.

"So, you wanna tell me the real reason you called my brother's phone to 'check-in' tonight instead of calling mine like you usually do? 'Cause we both know you've never even called Dean to tell him to pick up something on a supply run, you have me text him. Spill Y/N, what's wrong? Dean broke every speed law in Kansas and the surrounding states to get here because you scared the fuck out of him." Sam said, watching you like a detective looking at a criminal at the other end of a questioning stand. You seriously felt like you were on trial right now...

"Sam, it was a mistake, I dialed the wrong number, it's late and I'm tired," you said, standing up with your coffee in your hand, planning to make a quick exit before this conversation could get any more incriminating on your end. 

"Bullshit Y/N. That's bullshit, and you and I both know that it is. We've been friends since you walked into our lives. You owe me the truth. That's my brother in there. My brother who you've been a total ass to since we stepped foot into your Uncle Bobbies that day all those years ago. You've made cracks at his ego, you walk around like his very presents disgust you, you kick him when he's down, or more hurtful than anything you act like he doesn't even exist." Sams's face was hard as stone, and that scared the fuck out of you, Sam had never talked to you this way. 

"Sam, I don't understand what your talking about. Dean hates the very air I breathe. He doesn't care whether or not I ignore him, or whether I insulted him. I'm just another mouth to feed, just another burden he has to take on to raise. Nothing more. Hell, I'm not even considered a friend!!" you say, feeling your temper getting the best of you, and you didn't want to yell at your best friend. Sam and yourself had never gotten in a fight. You didn't want to start now.

"I know you're smarter than that Y/N, I know your not that fucking blind!" Sam whisper yelled, slamming his big hand down on the table, making you jump. In an instant, he was in your face, looming down at you over the table. 

"Listen to me, and you better let this sink in because I won’t say it again, and If Dean knew I was talking about this to someone who hates him he'd be humiliated, and embarrassed beyond forgiving me. Dean walks around with this overly strong, man's man personality. Like nothing can hurt him, nothing can touch him, but he fucking hurts too! For years now you've pushed him away to the point that he walks around like he doesn't like you because he's trying to hide the fact that you're hurting his feelings. Feelings he likes to pretend he doesn't have to protect himself! Protect himself from people like you! Dean's been in love with you from the moment he met you, and you never even gave him a chance! The first thing you ever did was insult him about the shirt he was wearing being wrinkled! For the first time in his life, he started to iron his clothes before getting dressed in the morning! Then when he was standing in your way in the kitchen in Bobby’s, you accused him of being an egotistical dick, and shoved him out of your way!” Sam took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself down. 

“I gave you the benefit of the doubt because Dean doesn’t exactly have a great reputation with women, and I’m sure living with hunters you’ve heard the stories, so I just overlooked it, even though I’ve never liked it. Now though, when you called his phone tonight, he tried to hide it, but for a moment his face lit up. When you told him that you were just checking in and called the wrong phone, you should have seen the heartbreak. He even admitted to me that he thought you were calling to tell him happy birthday Y/N!!!!” 

You sat there in stunned silence, your mouth hanging open silently. You didn’t see that coming. 

You had called him to say happy birthday, and chickened out… Shit…. Your brain just couldn’t compute what it was hearing, and you just sat there staring into the angry face of Sam Winchester. Literally feeling like you’d been punched in the gut. Like the floor dropped out of your whole world. 

Dean was in love with you? How did you never see it?

“S…. Sam…. I really didn’t know….. I…. I was going to wish him a happy birthday, but I chickened out,...... I thought Dean hated me… I thought he… fuck I never saw it…. I didn’t know!” 

Sam raised his hand to silence you.

Well, you better figure it out, because Dean doesn’t deserve the way your treating him, and I for one am tired of watching it. So I’m only going to say this one time. Don’t fuck with my brother’s emotions, or Bobby’s niece or not you will be looking for somewhere else to live, and don’t you dare get his hopes up just because you feel sorry for him. If you start something with Dean Y/N you better mean it, because I will…..” 

Balling his fist up he walks away out of the kitchen, down the hall to his room where you heard the door slam. Tears falling freely down your face. 

You didn’t know what hurt more. The fact that you had hurt Dean, the fact that Dean had been in love with you for years, or the fact that you were in love with him, and to damn stubborn and stupid to know it. 

You couldn’t leave it like this, and you couldn’t stand the thought that you had hurt Dean. So you stood up slowly, resolving in yourself that you were going to handle this like an adult. You were going to face your feelings for Dean, and if he rejects you, as he rightfully should probably. You were going to deal. ‘Cause after the way you treated Dean all these years, you deserve nothing less. 

Letting your feet carry you down the hallway to Dean’s room you stood outside the door, you couldn’t hear anything, but you knew that Dean wasn’t asleep. He never went to sleep directly after a hunt. Usually, he had to drink himself there…

Raising your hand slowly you knocked lightly on the door. Your resolve already weakening. Fear gripping you whether you want to admit it or not.

You could have sworn your heart stopped beating when you heard the door open and saw Dean standing there looking at you. He looked tired, which he usually did after a hunt. His eyes traveled you up and down in disbelief you were really standing before him, and that alone stung. The fact that you had been suck an ass to him, that he was shocked you knocked on his door when you lived in the same house burned deeper than you wanted to admit to anyone. Even yourself. Especially yourself. 

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” he asked, not really knowing how to even talk to you, now that it was pointed out to you it was all you could see. You mentally kicked yourself in the ass for what you had done to him.

“Hey, nothing wrong, mind if I come in?” you asked, and he backed up cautiously, letting you into his space. The one room in the bunker that you had never been in before. 

It was very military, very little life to it all. It was cleaner than you would have expected it to be. Weapons lining the walls. A picture of his mother and Sammy along with John from all those years ago on the nightstand, then there was another picture, one you didn’t expect to see there, and one Dean scampered to put it face down before you could see it, he was too late though… 

A picture of you sat in the picture frame, one he’d obviously snuck and took when you were doing research unaware…. Fuck..

You had to bite your lips to keep the tears from falling, Dean was watching you quietly, you could see now that what you had mistaken for being a jerk, was really Dean being nervous.

How have you been so blind for so long?

“Dean,” you say, taking a tentative step forward. He took one back. Like a hurt animal, and you got to close. You took a deep breath, looking at him, trying to figure out where to go from here, what to say. Is there even a way to fix this? Have you let it go too far? 

“Dean,” you try again. “Dean, can we talk? There’s something I need to say….” 

Dean sat down on the foot of his bed and looked at you quietly. You knew you were going to have to choose your words wisely. If you didn’t you were going to lose him for good, you could see it now. 

“Okay, shoot…” he said, looking you up and down suspiciously. Guarded. You recognized those walls because you normally wore them pretty high as well…

Making your way over to where he was sitting you sat down next to him slowly. His face was almost comical as he looked at you, sort of like his eyes were about to bulge out of his skull from the shock. 

Reaching over you deliberately grabbed his hand in yours, kind of like if you had your hands on him, he couldn’t run. Stupid logic yes, but when your as scared as you were right now, you wanted comfort. His comfort, even though you didn’t deserve it. 

“Dean, I’m so, so sorry,” you say quietly, looking deep into his breathtaking olive-green eyes. Eyes you felt like you were looking into for the first time. They were as deep as oceans, and you wanted more than anything to drown in them.

His plump pink lips parted slightly in shock, man you wanted to kiss those lips. Now that you have realized how bad you want this man, it’s almost a need…

“I have done nothing since the day I met you but be a total bitch to you, and it took me until tonight to admit and see it, and I’m so, so sorry. I was afraid of the way you made me feel Dean, so I was using insults and things to subconsciously push you away ...”

Reaching up you wipe a stray tear away that slipped past your defenses, you didn’t even care anymore that Dean saw it. 

Dean on the other hand just sat there and watched as one by one your walls started to crumble… Walls he didn’t even realize you had. Walls that looked so familiar to himself, because he had been hiding behind the same walls.

“I know there’s really no way to apologize for years of me being a total bitch. Not really; but I wanted you to know. Tonight I didn’t call your phone by accident…”

Standing up from the bed and turning his back to you, you barely heard his voice that wasn’t even a whisper….

“Why did Sammy tell you…. He said he wouldn’t tell you…”

Feeling like you were instantly fucked and screwed this up you started to panic. So you jumped off the bed, and grabbed his arm, he turned around harshly. A single tear streaming down his perfectly chiseled, Godlike face. 

“Dean, Sam has nothing to do with this, I’m glad he told me. Please just let me explain!” you half yelled at him, he stood silently, you couldn’t tell whether he was angry, or not…

Stone. The face Dean had perfected over the years of trying to protect his emotions.

“I was sitting on the bed logging onto my laptop to watch Netflix like I do every night, and I noticed the date. It was 30 minutes until midnight… In 30 more minutes, it would be your birthday, when I saw it; your face was all I could see Dean.  I remember thinking ‘if he lives for 30 more minutes he will have made it 41 years.’ I started to think about how rare that was in the life that we lived in. I started to think about how just in 30 minutes I could get a phone call that a hunt had gone to shit, or how some monster had finally gotten. Then I started to think about a world that you weren’t in.. I never realized it, Dean, I swear, but at that moment I realized I didn’t want to live in a world that you weren’t a part of…” 

You took a step closer to him, stealing yourself for the inevitable rejection, but you just had to get this off your chest. Regardless of the consequences. This time he didn’t step back. He stood still. 

“All these years I’ve been such a fucking idiot Dean, I don’t hate you, I loved you, Dean, I love you so fucking much, and I’m so afraid of it that I built up these stupid walls, and made fun of you and tried to hurt you and push you away because I am a fucking worthless coward… I’m so sorry Dean. I’ll never be able to say it enough. I know you probably don’t feel the same way, I don’t blame you if you hate me now, you have every right to, but I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you…” 

You stood there in silence now with battered breath. The air between the two of you thick with tension… You couldn’t take it anymore. The silence hurt worse than the rejection you had prepared yourself for. You turned to leave. 

You felt his hand reach out and grab your arm, much like you did his. Stopping you in your tracks. You turned on your heels to face your punishment. Dean could be cruel when he wanted to be, and you deserve that and more.

Instead of mean words, or hatred, you saw something you hadn’t expected. Tears. Flowing freely down his face. 

“De….” 

His lips landed on yours in a heavy kiss. Bruising almost. Like everything he’d pent up all these years, everything he wanted to say and couldn’t hold back anymore, because Dean was never good with words, was put into this kiss. Taking you by complete surprise.

It took you a moment, but not long to catch up, His lips were rougher than you expected but still soft. Dominating, demanding…. You felt his tongue trace over your bottom lip, asking for entrance that gladly granted him. 

His tongue quickly dominated your mouth. His taste filling you, whiskey and spearmint gum, and something that was just uniquely Dean… His cologne intoxicating you. Kissing you literally drunk.

When he finally pulled away you bother were panting. 

No words were spoken. You just stood there looking at each other for a moment. He said everything that needed to be said without saying a word. Dean was good at that.

Dean’s arms wrapped around yours. Strong, Powerful, everything you had imagined they would be. Pulling your body flush against his chest. His lips leaving little butterfly kisses on the corner of your mouth and down your jawline. To the spot behind your ear, you didn’t even know were there before his teeth pulled lightly against your ear lobe. A shiver ran down the course of your body. 

His hands felt like they were everywhere all at once. Making their way up to your oversized shirt, grabbing your bar breast in his powerful calloused hand. Massashing it lightly. Twisting your nipple that was standing on end between his thumb and index finger. Drawing a moan out of you both. 

Dean quickly started to back you both up to the bed that thankfully wasn’t that far away, letting you fall back softly when the back of your knees hit the mattress. You backed up the bed making quick work at removing your shirt, shorts and favorite underwear while you watched him rid himself of his layers quickly. His eyes ever leaving yours. Emotions so thick in his eyes that he looked like he might cry again…

Crawling over you with his perfectly sculpted body, He stopped just long enough swirl his tongue around each of your nipples. Making your arch into him. His hand tracing up your side while his other hand traced it’s way up to your thigh. Meeting your already dripping core. Your body literally aching for him. Finally letting you feel what you should have been feeling all those years. Passion burning hot as fire in your veins. Want, no need, Drawing you lips to his again as he slipped two of his thick fingers inside you, while his thumb made delicious circles over your swollen clit. His tongue finding places in your mouth you didn’t know existed. 

You could feel his swollen length throbbing against your inner thigh as he rocked himself against your skin. Desperate for friction he so desperately needed. 

You reached for him, but he pushed your hand away from you, his thick voice making you shiver underneath him 

“Not tonight sweetheart, I can’t last if you touch me like that….”

He ran his tongue lightly over the shell of your ear again as the coil in your belly tightened to a painful point. Ready to snap as white-hot pleasure threatened to take you over.

“Dean, I’m gonna….” 

You couldn’t finish as your eyes rolled, a gasp escaped you as he pick up the pace of his hand.

“I know baby, let go…” 

Just like that, you fell to pieces, your body jerking underneath him as he worked you through your high. Wave after wave of sheer bliss rolling through your veins. His lips finding yours once again. 

Kissing you lightly while he lined up his thick length with your soaking core..

“Your so beautiful Y/N… You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you this way…” He said. His thick voice barely above a whisper as his hooded eyes searched yours… Bring your lips to his again softly in a chaste kiss he didn’t let you respond as he slowly pushed his way into you, making you gasp at his girth and length. He was more than you could have ever imagined he’d be.

When he finally bottomed out he stilled inside of you, kissing you softly, lovingly until you nodded at him. Letting you know you were ready for him to move..

Over and over again he pushed and pulled himself into you, each drag of his tick length against your walls, hitting spot deep down inside of you that you didn’t know existed. His pace quickened as you both became a moaning, grunting mess. The sounds of skin on skin filling the room as he was now driving into you with a desperation that you couldn’t describe. 

“Not gonna last long…,” he said between pants, his thrust being to break their steady rhythm.

You couldn’t respond, only moan his name louder as you were pushed over the edge again. He did his best to work you through your high before spilling deep inside of you. Something between a cry and a whine leaving his perfect lips that were buried against your neck. Kissing you as he finally stops twitching inside of you, giving you everything he had to give. 

Brushing your hair behind your ear he looked deep into you y/e/c eyes, stealing your breath away again with just a look. Still buried deep down inside of you…

“Y/n I love you…” He whispered. His eyes searching yours.

“I love you to Dean, Happy birthday….”

Tag List:

@deanwanddamons​ 

@imabitch4jensen​

Happy Birthday Dean Tag List:

@spngirl05​

[hannaswritingblog]

‘The Parable of the Prodigal Daughter’ | The Chronicles of Narnia ficlet

Title: The Parable of the Prodigal Daughter

Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia

Time of events: after ‘The Last Battle’, the 7th and final book

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: Here comes another story that I wrote a while back for a competition, this time outside Tumblr. It was meant to contain certain keywords proposed by the organizers and some of them reminded me of Narnia, so I shortly presented how I imagined Susan Pevensie’s fate after ‘The Last Battle’; it also plays with the idea of The Parable of the Prodigal Son from The Gospel of Luke. The story might spoil some events from ‘The Last Battle’, but If you decide to read it, enjoy! :)

I’m sleeping deeply, as deeply as never before. This must be this state I was often told about, the state that resembles death, because it’s so hard to be awaken from it. When the sun finally forces me to open my eyes, I feel like Morpheus is still embracing me and it’s just another dream in front of me. I’m not in my own bedroom, where I went to sleep last night, but in a small clearing surrounded by a thick forest. With each passing second, I feel more confused – I didn’t expect waking up in such place, especially since I have no idea where I am exactly. I don’t even remember the clothes I’m wearing – it’s a dark green dress with golden decorations, which, I swear, I have never seen before. Or maybe...? The longer I observe it, the more familiar it seems. I move my hand across one of the sleeves and place it on my arm. I can feel some other material under my fingertips than the one the drees is made of, although as delicate. It takes me a moment to realise it’s my hair. Not earlier than two days ago did I go to the hairdresser, where I had my hair cut short. It’s impossible for them to grow back past the shoulder-length so soon. Besides that, I notice the lock that I hold is utterly black, just like in my youth. Strange... A couple months ago I started noticing grey highlights on my head and recently I didn’t even try to hide them. They couldn’t disappear just like that... I carefully look at my hands, I touch my face – everything seems to be the way it was many years ago, just like I got at least two decades younger overnight.

Although I don’t really understand the situation I’m in, and I don’t have any rational explanation for it other than it all being a dream, I’m not panicking. Maybe it’s the thought of it being the dream that calms me down, or maybe it’s the fact that with each second I feel like I recognize the area more. I decide to move on with hope I’ll meet someone or something that can explain where I am. I slowly walk into the forest. I wander for a long time, so long I finally lose the sense of time and space, which rarely happens to me. Despite the passing time it’s still bright, I can see through the trees that the sun didn’t even begin to set, although I woke up in the clearing in the afternoon – or at least that’s how it felt. I also don’t feel the fatigue, even if I should after such a long walk.

When I start to think I’m completely lost, the trees begin to thin out. A couple of steps are enough for me to find myself on the edge of the forest. On the horizon I can see ruins of a castle placed on the hill towering over the area. My stomach tightens; for some reason I feel I have already seen that hill and that castle, even though I can’t connect them to any memory. After a short hesitation I decide to go on. Maybe over there, in these ruins, the solution to the mystery of what’s going on is waiting for me?

I’ve been walking for at least another hour through the plain between me and the hill. The sun still doesn’t change its position, but with each step I seem to mind it less. Excitement slowly starts to fill me, just like when... When? In my head there’s a glimmer of an old, strong feeling, connected – I’m almost hundred percent sure – to this weird land I’m walking through. It’s like I subconsciously know I’ve visited this place before and it made me feel... happy.

I finally reach my destination. The only thing left is climbing up the hill. Stone steps extending from its basis up to the top help me a lot. Luckily, I don’t need to worry about looking for the entrance to the castle – the walls are broken and full of holes, I can simply sneak in through one of them. Inside I see the remains of other walls that give me idea of how specific rooms looked. The one I’m currently in seems like a former armoury – on the floor covered with grass lie different types of weapons, like a small dagger, a sword, a bow with an empty quiver... This sight reminds me of childhood games, specifically one game. When we were young, me and my siblings had our magical land, where we would go thanks to the power of imagination. We were its kings and queens, each of us had their own nickname, as well as a weapon they would use at wars – I was the most remarkable of the archers. Do I remember correctly that this whole thing was Lucy’s idea? Oh, Lucy... I would give a lot to see my little sister again. Maybe now, in this peculiar dream, I will see her for at least a moment? Her, our brothers, our parents, all those people close to me who were taken away in this accident... I shake my head. Right now, I shouldn’t allow myself to fall apart or go back to this childishness, it’s not going to help me anyway. It doesn’t matter if this situation is a dream or anything else, I need to find a way out of it, and if there’s no way out, I need to pass the time somehow. I cannot just sit down and cry.

As time passes, I slowly become weaker. I’m ready to give up my walk around the castle when I enter a hall that must’ve been a throne hall once. It’s enormous, and on the other end from where I’m standing, I can see a platform. On the platform there are the remains of four chairs. Four thrones... for four siblings? I had two brothers and a sister. Isn’t it what the ruins of the royal residence we created in our dreams would look like?

Suddenly I start to understand. That magical land we used to call Narnia truly exists. I truly were one of the four rulers, I truly met so many fantastic creatures I thought would only belong to the world of imagination. But... if I remember correctly, no one could come to Narnia of their own accord, whenever they wanted. It required a special call, special circumstances. Was I summoned here then?

“Do you believe in Narnia now, Susan Pevensie, Daughter of Eve?” someone behind me asks.

I turn around to see a huge lion.

“Aslan?” I say stupidly; of course, I know it’s Him, the Lion, the creator of Narnia, superior to any of the Narnian kings, stronger and more important than we, the Pevensie siblings, have ever been.

“Yes, it is me” he answers calmly and repeats his question: “Do you believe, Susan?”

I want to admit that yes, now that I arrived in Narnia again, I’m sure I believe in it, but I can’t. I can’t tell him that, not after he took all my loved ones away from me, the people I couldn’t even meet now. If Narnia exists and all of them – in opposition to me, the doubtful prodigal daughter – always strongly believed in it, even while being away from the wonders of this land, even when it all felt like a dream, shouldn’t they be here? Why couldn’t I find them anywhere?

“Don’t worry about your loved ones” Aslan says, as if he read my mind. “They are in Narnia. The New Narnia. It’s the land similar to the one you should remember from the past, yet much more beautiful. What you see around you now is the illusion of the country you got to know when you were its queen. I brought you here so that you would come to the land you know well first, to remind you of everything you should’ve always remembered. In a moment I’ll take you where your destination is.”

His words bring me relief. There’s only one thing left that I don’t understand.

“Aslan... I suppose they all came here after the accident, I mean, after they died. Does it mean I...”

“Yes. You left your world in your sleep. You have not believed in this land for a long time, but through your loneliness you have suffered enough. It was a good moment to call you here.”

“Thank you, Aslan.”

“Don’t thank me, Susan. Just tell me, do you believe now?”

“I believe” I answer confidently.

The lion smiles. The other, past Susan would probably thing that it’s impossible for animals to smile, that it must be an illusion, but I know He can truly smile.

“You were dead and are alive again; you were lost and are found” Aslan says and leans. “Hop on my back, sit comfortably and hold on to my mane. There is a long journey ahead of us.”

Without unnecessary delays I accept the invitation. When I make myself comfortable, Aslan shakes his head and roars. I feel tears appear in my eyes – tears of relief and happiness. One stage of my life is ending right now, when the next one begins, and I know it’s going to be the most beautiful of all.

[jarienn972]

La Sirena - Chapter Three

Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

My intent had been to post this latest chapter update for @cssns​ yesterday, but neither Tumblr nor my internet at home wanted to cooperate so Chapter Three was a little bit delayed. I decided with this chapter to jump a few days ahead so that Killian was partially recuperated and able to start exploring his new surroundings.  He’s discovered that his “angel” is a mysterious, lonely woman who has been stranded on this stretch of shore for a very long time and he wants to learn more about her.  Will he get more than he bargained for though?

I have to say thanks again to @courtorderedcake​ for her beautiful artwork featured here and to @kmomof4​ for being an amazing beta reader!

The first two chapters can be found on AO3 and FF.net or here: One  Two

Chapter Three: A Glimpse of the Unknown

By the third sunrise since arriving on this distant cove, Killian was at last feeling recuperated enough to venture beyond the protected thicket. He'd been gratefully accepting Emma's offered sustenance and had enjoyed the few, brief conversations they'd shared. The fruits she'd brought had served to nourish his weakened body, especially after a week or so subsisting on the unidentifiable gruel the pirates had shoved at him. More so, her pleasant words may have been few, but they had helped ease his troubled mind and he hoped to entice her into talking more now that he had recovered enough to carry on an intelligent discourse.

What had brought her here to such a seemingly lonely place? Was she truly alone here or were there others living nearby? He had no inkling whether she'd answer him, but with little else to do, he'd relish the challenge.

For now, he was anxious to stretch his legs and discover a bit more of the isle he'd landed upon. Using a nearby palm tree stump to aid in keeping his balance, Killian found his footing and pushed himself fully upright for the first time since he'd escaped the doomed pirate ship. He'd crawled about the clearing as needed and he'd of course been able to sit cross-legged in the sand to eat, but standing suddenly felt foreign. His legs protested the exertion, although not nearly as much as his throbbing head. He had to pause for a few seconds to allow the dizziness to pass, but he pressed forward despite the realization that he'd likely underestimated the severity of the blow he'd taken from the ship's rigging.

It was also at this moment that it dawned on him what a fright he must look. His uniform had been torn to shreds in battle, made worse during his imprisonment, and now hung in tatters on his gaunt form. The relentless waves had shredded the fabric even further but had barely touched the dark stains. His current state was completely unbecoming of an officer but he was a long way from a tailor so he'd have to make due. He was determined to do one thing to improve his outward appearance - bathe. He'd not bathed properly since he'd departed Liam's ship nor had he shaved. His chin itched of several days' growth of whiskers and he found himself idly wondering if his lovely companion might have soap or better yet - a straight razor - in her possession.

Taking each step slowly and deliberately, he followed a narrow, well-trodden path through the patch of cycads, emerging onto a pristine expanse of shoreline. The sand squishing between and beneath his toes was warm, but not uncomfortable as he trudged toward the water's edge. He'd not yet seen Emma this morning. Perhaps he'd risen before her? He was tempted to turn back towards the rocks and search for her, but he knew she'd come find him in time. Right now, he was eager to wade into the crystal clear bay that stretched out before him as far as the eye could see and allow the seawater to wash away the grime and ease the aches in his joints.

And if the fair maiden wasn't around to see him, he could shed his torn, bloodstained linen shirt and the stiff, uncomfortable wool uniform trousers. A least for a few minutes…

The scratchy trousers were the first to go, followed quickly by his shirt. He'd not even bothered undoing all of the buttons as several were already missing. By the time he reached the water, he'd left a trail of clothing behind but as long as he was still alone on the beach, his dignity remained intact.

He waded into the surf, noting that the shallows extended only a short distance from the shore before dropping into unknown depths. At least the waves were calm as they broke against his legs. He dared only to venture in waist deep, not prepared to test his swimming ability so soon lest Emma need to rescue him again. As he bent his knees to lower his torso into the cool, salty water, he watched the little fish darting around. He cupped water in his open palms and splashed it onto his face, careful to avoid the gash on his forehead as he scrubbed away layers of grime. His wound still stung enough without introducing more saltwater to it.

He wasn't normally a contemplative person but even he had to recognize how recent events had altered his perspective. For days in captivity, he'd had nothing but time to think about those he'd failed. His crew. His brother. Himself. Maybe he lacked the necessary skills to be a proper leader. He'd sailed his crew into certain death and yet, here he was - left to wallow in guilt. Liam would have fought harder. He wouldn't have allowed his crew to be taken prisoner.

And yet Liam was the one who'd given the order to scout the uncharted island. The order had come from him. He was the Captain. Liam had imparted this fate upon them with his order…

Killian squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head, willing himself to banish those thoughts. No, Liam was a good captain. He would never knowingly endanger his crew, especially not with his younger brother leading the expedition. It had been an unfortunate series of events that Killian alone had survived to lament. Fortune had intervened and spared his life, bringing him here to another uncharted, idyllic locale. The cove and its beguiling inhabitant were both ripe with beauty and intrigue.

At some point, his senses became aware that he was no longer alone. He didn't know how long she'd been watching him but he couldn't halt the flush of embarrassment from darkening his cheeks as he splashed an abrupt about-face in the water.

"Apologies," she shouted from the shore. "I didn't intend to startle you."

"'Tis alright," he replied, stupidly arguing with himself as to whether he should cover himself.

"I followed your trail from the grove," she began, waving an arm in the direction of his discarded clothing littering the beach. "If I had known you wished to bathe, I would have recommended the spring-fed pool inside the cavern as being more preferable…"

He chuckled to himself as he gave his head a little shake. Of course, it would have been… "I'll remember that for future reference."

"I am pleased to see that you're feeling stronger today," she smiled while a breezy tradewind fluttered the hem of her tunic, giving him a glimpse of her pale but enticingly shapely legs.

"Yes," he gulped, suddenly even more aware of his current state of undress. "I am feeling much better this morning…"

"That is wonderful. I've refilled the carafe for you back at the grove and brought you some fresh fruit. Is there anything else you might need?"

"You wouldn't happen to know where a man might get some new clothing and perhaps a straight razor around these parts? Is there a town or village nearby where I might find such things? My former uniform is rather an unacceptable mess at the present."

"I'm afraid that the nearest place you'd call a village is more than a day's trek up the peninsula from here and it's certainly not a place where you'd find such goods."

"Ah, pity. We truly are quite isolated here, are we not?"

"Afraid so, but you might be surprised by what this bountiful cove can provide. I believe I may be able to locate some clothing for you and perhaps some personal implements as well. Come join me in the cavern and we can take a look?"

"Ehh…," he stammered, blushing an even deeper shade of crimson. He'd not thought of himself as a prudish person but he was far from a brash braggart who would dare reveal his nudity to an innocent maiden yet. "That sounds like a wonderful idea…"

She seemed a tad confused when he didn't exit the water but after a moment, she understood his hesitation. "Ah - I am truly sorry… I have had little need for modesty in my solitude. I'll leave you be and meet you back beneath the trees in a few minutes."

"Much appreciated," he responded as she turned toward the swaying palms, all the time hearing the ghostly echo of Liam's laughter ringing in his ears.

**********

After ensuring that the coast was clear of prying eyes, Killian padded self-consciously out of the sea. He collected the remnants of his threadbare shirt and used it to give himself a precursory drying off as he fetched his trousers. He would have preferred to burn them rather than don them yet again, but with no other option for clothing presently available, he'd have to suffer and make due. He didn't have the foggiest notion of what Emma had meant when she spoke of the provisions of this bountiful cove, but he had to trust her. He was the outsider here and even though he still knew little about her, he doubted she would have mentioned anything if she couldn't be of assistance.

He chose not to bother putting what remained of his shirt back on as he followed her footprints back into the cycad grove where he'd spent nearly every waking moment since being marooned on this shore. The canopy had provided shade and shelter to him, although he was thankful the skies had been fair. He'd spent the past decade and a half aboard various ships, his leave in port usually brief so this was an unfamiliar experience for the seasoned mariner.

Not necessarily an unpleasant one though, he thought to himself as he arrived to find Emma kneeling in the sand, splitting apart a fig. She silently offered him one half as she bit into the other. Killian accepted it with a nod, popping it into his mouth before realizing she was staring at him with her intense green eyes.

"Have I done something wrong?" he queried with a furrowed brow, concerned he had offended his host with either his actions or his partially clothed form.

"No, no…" she assured him, averting her eyes with a hint of shame. "I was just admiring your pelt…" Her face scrunched in disgust at her errant choice of words. "No, that's not the right word…" She shook her head, trying desperately to come up with the proper term as Killian looked on in confused amusement. "I was drawn to the dark hair that covers your limbs and your torso… The males of my people, they simply do not possess body hair in such patterns."

"Your people don't have body hair?" he asked, incredulously, lifting a curious eyebrow as he wondered how they'd gotten to this conversation.

"Not to the extent of yours… They are able to grow facial hair but only fine, pale hairs adorn their bodies…" Her attempt to explain what she meant only began to exacerbate her awkwardness. "A thick coat of fur is not needed for warmth in our land so I have never seen anyone with such an impressive display of hair…"

"Well, it isn't really for warmth where I come from either. I inherited it from my grandfather, I believe…," he realized he was blushing while he rambled on, suddenly wishing he had something to cover his bare chest.

"Please - do not be embarrassed. I had no intention of shaming you and I should not have been staring - it's not polite - but it has been a very long time since I've been this close to anyone."

"How long?" he caught himself asking, cringing immediately as he blurted out the insensitive question. "Forgive me, please. That wasn't proper for me to be asking."

"It's no matter. We've both made our blunders, have we not?" She mused with a shy grin, the first time he'd truly noticed her smile. It was only visible for a split-second as she abruptly changed the subject, reverting back to her stoic front. "You should come with me to the cavern now. I believe you shall find some of what you seek there."

"Inside the cave?" There was a heavy dose of disbelief in his voice. What on earth would be inside that cavern that would be of use to him?

"Please, just follow me. You will see."

He might have still been skeptical but he was also of the opinion that if a beautiful woman asked you to follow her, you followed her. He'd be damned if he wasn't going to do as requested.

The mouth of the cavern was deeply recessed into the jagged outcrop, making it virtually invisible from the bay. It was dark and uninviting but as they made their way over the ridge and passed into the void, Killian was pleasantly surprised to learn that the interior was relatively well illuminated. Streams of sunlight filtered in through cracks in the cavern's ceiling and he also recognized the acrid scent of smoke lingering in the tempered air, likely residue from the series of torches and lanterns lining the rock walls that Emma used to navigate the tunnels.

With Emma leading the way, they rounded a shadowy corner in a dim passageway that became ablaze with light as they neared. Emma was only a few steps ahead of him, but suddenly there were torches roaring to life. He'd not seen her stop to light the flames, but he shook it off as a trick of his weary head. His injury must be toying with his imagination.

The chamber they'd now entered was clearly Emma's living quarters and Killian swallowed back a swell of unease at invading her private dwelling, although she didn't appear fazed. He noted its simple furnishings as they passed, this not being her intended destination. Tucked away in an alcove, he saw only a mattress fashioned from woven raffia grasses and a series of colorful ceramic carafes like those she'd used to bring water to him. She seemed to have little need for creature comforts or material goods, so different from the women he'd encountered in various ports around the realm.

"Just a bit further," she stated, drawing his attention away from her dwelling and back to the passage. He noted the trickle of water off in the distance, likely a stream or brook formed from the spring she'd mentioned earlier. They pressed forward into another chamber that again seemed to illuminate as they drew closer. The experience was a tad disconcerting to Killian but he was determined to keep his mouth shut - at least until his jaw fell slack by the revelation of stunning wonders all around him.

The narrow corridor weaving through the rock opened into a broad, expansive subterranean room, awash in brilliance from its own natural skylight which opened directly above a sparkling pool. Faint tendrils of steam arose from the surface. This must be the spring Emma had recommended for bathing and it looked incredibly inviting.

"This is the spring you spoke of earlier?" he queried.

"One of them. This is the mineral hot spring. There is also a cool, sweet water spring around the bend. It feeds into this pool as well as one deeper into the cavern," she advised.

"This cavern… I've seen others similar on my many adventures. It's an old lava tube, is it not?"

"Very astute and yes, this entire cove was formed by an ancient lava flow."

"It is quite a lovely place and I see now many of its provisions, but I still fail to see what assistance this is to be for me…"

"It was not the cavern itself that I was referring to. This happens to be where I have stored some unusual items that originated in your world."

"My world?" he asked, confused as she lowered herself to her knees and lit a lantern conveniently sitting at her feet. When she raised the lamp, he could now make out the objects she'd been so cryptically taunting him with - four large marine chests in varying states of decay.

"Are these not from your world?" She brought the lantern closer to the nearest chest. It was covered in faded, cracked leather and decorated with ornate brass fittings and latches that were marred with heavy patina. He surmised that there was once a matching padlock that was lost to time but there was no evidence that it had been removed by force. The whole thing had seen better days, bearing extensive visible water damage. Depending on how well it had been constructed and the quality of the leather casing, it could potentially still be watertight. "I find these washed up on the shore from time to time."

"They appear to be merchant chests, used for transporting goods. We had many like these on my ship, although these appear to be much older."

"I assume they came from ships that have sunk in the treacherous waters surrounding this land."

"Around this placid bay?" he scoffed. "These waters are far too tranquil. These must have traveled here from afar…"

"Do not allow the tranquility of this cove to fool you. These waters are teeming with untold dangers. Your very survival was nothing short of miraculous!" Even in the half-light cast off by the flickering lantern, he noted the stern admonishment that spoiled her visage before she hastily turned her face away from his view. She paused with a haunting silence as she calmed herself before continuing with the prior topic. "These chests, I have searched through them, though they contain little to serve my needs, save for the bits of fabric and notions. I do believe that you will find objects that will conform to your needs so please, feel free to peruse their contents at your leisure. I am going to return to the bay so I may find some shellfish for our next meal. If you need my assistance, just shout. Voices carry well in this cavern and I have excellent hearing."

She extended her arm towards him, offering him the lantern she held. She wouldn't require it to make her way out of the cave. He took hold of the handle as she pushed herself back to stand. Emma paused momentarily as Killian crouched, flipping open the latch on the first chest to uncover the hidden treasures beneath.

"Thank you. This was not at all what I expected…" he said as he poured over goods that had survived their journey well. He glanced over his shoulder with a wide grin crossing his lips, one that instantly faded when he discovered she'd already departed.

How? He'd barely averted his attention for a minute or two… How had she vanished so rapidly and so stealthily? One more mystery to add to his growing list…

When he emerged from the cavern, he sported a billowy black silken tunic featuring tiny mother-of-pearl buttons and linen trousers that were the color of the sand. He'd needed to draw the laces quite tight to prevent them from sliding off of his slender hips, but they were exceedingly more comfortable than what was left of his woolen uniform pants. He'd fretted over not finding a razor in any of the chests although he did locate a short-bladed cutlass within a chest full of treasure, likely once the property of a long-dead pirate. It didn't sit as comfortably in his grip as his service rapier but it was a solid, capable weapon. It would certainly prove useful to split a coconut or filet a fish.

He tucked the blade back into its scabbard as he caught sight of Emma on the horizon. He was prepared to thank her for the clothing he'd found, but there was something about the expression on her face… She looked worried, even frightened and she was running toward him.

"Emma? You look vexed, love…"

"Get back inside the cave!" she ordered. "There's a storm coming. It isn't safe here…"

Killian's brow lifted in confusion as he glanced skyward, seeing only a few sparse, puffy clouds against the azure backdrop of the heavens. There was no foul wind blowing to indicate an impending storm. Whatever was she talking about?

"What storm? There's no sign of rain clouds above…"

"Killian…," she pleaded, catching his arm as she hurried past him and tugging him back to the shelter of the cave. "Don't argue with me. Just return to the cavern, back to the pools. You can not be caught up in this…"

"In what?" he pressed for more information while trusting her judgement and retreating beneath the rocky overhang. He expected that she would remain here with him for the duration of this coming storm but once he was safely out of the elements, she released her grasp and scrambled back toward the ridge. "Emma? Where are you going? I thought you said there was a storm coming? That it wasn't safe?"

She stopped at the crest of the ridge and lowered her head. He wasn't sure what to make of her body language or the consternation etched into her face as she glanced over her shoulder.

"It isn't safe for you," she replied sternly. "but this storm - it's here for me."

[lemonlushff-iy]

A Heart’s Abduction: Chapter 1

Her head was killing her. Straight up throbbing.

Kagome rolled over and snuggled her face into her pillow, reaching down around herself to pull the blankets up around her shoulders with a throaty groan.

Ugh...she needed a cold compress and an Advil. It felt like her head got run over by a truck. What the hell happened to her?

She scrunched up her brow and mentally went back through the last things she remembered.

She was taking out the trash before going to bed...then her cat escaped and bolted for the woods behind her house, so she naturally ran after him. It was cold out and she remembered regretting not grabbing a jacket to wear over her pajamas. The jerk was fast and got pretty damn far, and it was dark out, and she remembered taking her phone out to use as a flashlight, but she still couldn't find him.

Then she heard some rustling in the bushes.

She bolted upright, her eyes snapping open as she smacked her head into the forehead of the man hovering over her, and they both cried out in pain. She raised her hands to her head, cradling it as memories flooded her mind and she backed herself up against the pillow at the head of her bed.

Only it wasn't her bed...and she wasn't in her house.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, looking up at the silver haired man before her, continuing to press a hand to her forehead in an attempt to ease some of the pain. He had scrambled away from her and held one hand to his head as well, while the other was outstretched like he was trying to calm her down.

Yeah.

Right.

A little fucking too late for that buddy!

He started to speak to her in a slow, calm voice, but what he was saying didn't make any sense. It was like he was speaking a weird mixture of ten different foreign languages and she had no goddamn idea what he was saying or what the hell was going on.

He looked as panicked as she did, and she wasn't sure if she should take comfort in that, or be even more freaked out.

He slid a hand into his red pants pocket, and she took a deep breath to try and calm her racing heart as she took in his appearance. The long, waist length silver hair was odd, especially for someone who looked like they were in their mid to late twenties. Possibly early thirties? She was never good at guessing age...but that wasn't particularly relevant. Not when the guy seemed to have a pair of fucking functioning dog ears wiggling on the top of his head, and golden eyes with slits for pupils. His fingers were tipped with claws, and he was dressed in bright red, almost military looking clothes. Only vests without shirts underneath didn't feel very military.

Fucking hell...was she still dreaming?

She tried pinching herself, but she was definitely already awake.

Cool.

Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool.

This was great.

He pulled out of his pocket a solid silver, oval, ball like object and pressed something that made it shoot out a bright blue light.

"What the hell is that?" she demanded, and the device made a beeping noise that reminded her of a computer error.

She looked around the room, trying to take in her surroundings and plan an escape. She was in a very modern looking bedroom with lots of grey furniture and accents. Off to the right of the bed she was sitting on was a table with several chairs around it, and a couch was placed along the far side of the room.

100% not at home.

He began speaking to her again and gesturing towards the silver thing he was holding, but she still couldn't understand what he was saying or what the hell he wanted.

He slowly pushed himself so he was kneeling on all fours and brought a knee up. He wanted to approach her, and she snatched the pillow she was leaning against and pulled it in front of her, trying to put a barrier between them.

He stopped when she did that and froze in place, saying something to her again. His tone was soft, but she could sense some frustration behind his words and in his eyes.

When she didn't move or say anything in response to his mumbo jumbo, he placed his knee down and slowly edged closer to her to place the silver thing on the bed she was in. She glanced down at the silver object, back to him, and then back to the silver object.

He spoke softly again, his tone patient and caring and she looked back up at him.

He pointed at his mouth, saying something, and then down to the device. She furrowed her brow in confusion. It was clear he was trying to tell her something about it, and he repeated whatever it was he had just said. It was like he was looking for her to do something, and she just wasn't getting it.

He sighed and ran a hand through his bangs, glancing up at the ceiling before trying again. This time he picked up the device and held it to his lips and began speaking into it. When he was finished he held it back out to her, a hopeful light in his eyes.

It was like he wanted her to take it and speak into it?

But that was crazy right?

Then again, she had no idea what the fuck was going on and nothing made sense right now, and she didn't know where the hell she was...so maybe talking into a little silver oval wasn't the craziest thing that had happened to her lately.

She hesitantly reached out a hand and took it from him, holding it up to her lips.

"Ok, is this what you wanted?" She asked, and the ball emitted a green light.

This seemed to excite him, and he said something in an encouraging tone.

"Do you want me to keep talking?" She asked, realizing stupidly after asking that she wasn't going to get a response she could understand.

And she didn't, but he seemed happy that she was talking into the ball.

"My name is Kagome Higurashi...Please don't hurt me. I have no idea who you are or where the hell I am. I just want my head to stop spinning and I want to go home. Please let me go home? I was looking for my cat...I didn't mean to find you guys, I swear. I don't care what you were doing in the woods. I just want my cat and I just want to go home. I won't tell anyone I saw you guys I promise. Just please...let me go. I have a family. A mom, a brother, a grandfather...and friends. I have a bunch of people who would miss me if I went missing. Please don't hurt me," she pleaded, and the green light started flashing before turning off completely.

He seemed pleased but still nervous, and said something.

"Can you understand me?" The silver ball repeated in his voice and she dropped it, in shock. "That looks like a yes." He sighed in relief.

"What...the hell…"

The ball repeated what she said back to him in his language and he let out a laugh.

"It's a translator. It hasn't needed a new language added to it in decades. How extraordinary…" he grinned, leaning closer to look at her, and she pressed herself further against the wall and started trembling.

He immediately stopped and backed away, raising his hands.

"I didn't mean to offend you…" he said softly. "I've never seen your species outside of my system before."

Outside of his system?

"What do you mean 'my species'? What system? What the fuck is going on? I just want to go home...Please...let me go home…"

His posture slackened and his face fell.

"I can't do that," he told her firmly, standing and walking to the wall with the couch. He placed his hand on the wall and pressed a button, causing windows she hadn't realized were there to defog, and her breath caught in her throat.

They were surrounded by blackness and millions of twinkling stars...and in distance, no bigger than a marble was a small, blue and green dot.

Earth.

Fuck.

(Awkwardly places link to FFN after posting the entire chapter: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13466505/1/A-Heart-s-Abduction )

[twdfanfic-multifandom]

“I’ve had worse scratches from my sister’s kitten”

*Set between season 3 and season 4*

****

"Can I slide in a small request?" Michonne said quietly, her face stern. You turned to look at her, eyebrows furrowed.

"What is it?"

A moment of hesitation passed before Michonne finally spoke, the seriousness of her voice making you slightly nervous.

"Snickers. Kit-Kat. Butterfinger, whatever you can find. Please. I'm begging you." Desperation filled her voice as if her life depended on her single request for a candy bar. A laugh bubbled from your lips as you shook your head.

"I'll try my best, though I can't guarantee its freshness," you stated as you made a mental note to look for any form of chocolate on your supply run.

"As long as it has sugar and has more than a hundred calories, I don't care if it's decades old," Michonne retorted and offered you a small smile.

"Be safe," she instructed finally before turning away from you.

Daryl leaned against the car with arms crossed, waiting patiently for you. Tyreese already had the engine running, and soon the three of you were exiting the prison grounds. The sun was fresh and sharp having just risen, and the blinding golden rays streamed through the windows. From the backseat, you watched as golden strips of light cut across Daryl's skin, almost making him glow. He looked beautiful. He absentmindedly chewed on a fingernail while he and Tyreese exchanged quiet conversation.

An aura of tiredness filled the car. It was early, and runs weren't a fun part of surviving - though they were necessary. The prison ran out of food quickly despite the rationing, so scavenging for supplies became more frequent. Most of the time it was you and Daryl out hunting for food. The two of you worked exceptionally well together - your bubbly yet sarcastic disposition paired well with his hostility and dryness, and you found yourself enjoying time with Daryl. He was cold and stern, but beneath the tough exterior was a heart of gold. You'd clearly seen that throughout the months. This was occasionally reinforced by meaningful conversations shared between the two of you on late night watches, or laying beside a fire in the woods. He was a good person.

"Y/n, you still awake?" Tyreese said loudly, making you wince.

"Am now, asshole," you joked with a small chuckle, and Daryl glanced at you out the corner of his eye, his lip tugged up at the corner.

After a few more minutes, the entered into a desolate town and the three of you stepped out, weapons ready. Everything looked ransacked. Windows were smashed in, and walls were covered in graffiti. The end is here. Repent and get saved. They're coming. We're all dead. You're dead.

A small chill ran down your spine, and the two men also seemed unsettled by the writing on the wall. It was hard to get used to things like that. It added to the feeling of impending doom that always seem to loom at the back of everyone's minds. Walkers snarled in the distance. None of them seemed nearby, but everyone knew it was best to get in and get out before they became a problem.

"There," Tyreese pointed out a large building with a faded sign - what once was presumably a Walmart. Quickening up the pace, you headed into the building.

Daryl stepped protectively in front of you, crossbow raised. He scanned the massive room before walking forward towards the shelves.

"Let's split up," you suggested in a whisper. The large man nodded before Daryl interjected.

"No, no way. Ya stick with me," he instructed, making you roll your eyes despite the warmth that filled your heart.

"I can fight. It'll be quicker if we split up," you motioned to your gun and knife.

"She's right," Tyreese agreed, earning a glare from the archer. After a moment he reluctantly agreed, and we went different ways.

The shelves were not entirely empty, but most of the canned goods were gone. The only things left were the things most people didn't want to eat - beans, tuna, clams, vienna sausage. You placed the available tins in your backpack before heading to the candy aisle. Your heart sunk when you saw that it was totally barren. All the racks were empty, save for a single bag of marshmallows that had been ripped open and spilled all over. Defeated, you dropped to your knees.

"Why the candy?" You muttered bitterly to yourself, letting out a huge sigh.

"Ya say something?" Daryl called out from somewhere else in the store, and you shook your head stupidly before realizing that he couldn't see you.

"Just talking to myself," you called back. In a last effort, you bent down to scan the deep dark depths beneath the metal shelving. Shining you flashlight underneath, all there was to be seen was an ungodly amount of spiderwebs and dust. Then something glinted in the artificial light. Desperately you crawled forward to reach for the shining object. With a crinkle, you pulled out the dusty bar. Baby Ruth. Hell yeah. A big smile plastered onto your face and you pocketed the candy bar - Michonne was going to be happy. She hadn't asked for anything since arriving at the prison. All she did was help out as much as she could and stayed out of the way. The two of you had become close friends in the short time that Michonne had been at the prison, but it might as well have been years of friendship. It sure as hell felt that way sometimes.

"Guys we got company!" Tyreese yelled, snapping you out of your daze. Raising your gun you shot up off the floor and headed towards the sound of his voice, now noticing hungry growls.

"Holy shit."

A steady stream of walkers flowed through the single open door of the Walmart, while dozens more were pressed against the large window panes, blocking your exit. Arrows fired from beside you, and you glanced at Daryl. He was focused. You and Tyreese followed suit, firing your guns at the grotesque and hungry walkers. Their jaws snapped loudly. With a sudden shatter, one of the large window panes gave in under the pressure of the walkers, allowing them entrance.

"Shit," Daryl muttered. Fear pulsed through you as you kept firing, though it seemed pointless. The unmistakable click of an empty mag sent frustration coursing through your head. You flung your gun towards a biter with only half a face, then pulled out your knife. Rushing forward into the oncoming creatures, you stabbed them relentlessly in their decaying heads, one by one.

"We gotta go," Tyreese said breathlessly as he motioned towards the rest of the building. There had to be another exit. You nodded as you turned away from the creatures and hurried towards Daryl, who placed a warm hand on your arm.

"Ya okay?" He asked quietly, his low voice rumbling through your chest. His eyes were simultaneously cold and warm, paradoxical like him. Soft and hard. Cold and warm. Where his fingers touched your skin sent waves of electricity through your body, making your stomach tighten.

"Yeah," you breathed softly, your eyes staring straight into his.

"Seriously guys, not the time. We gotta go now."

With the moment broken, the three of you ran through the array of shelves. In the distance was another loud shatter. Then another. Then another. No more glass. Panic rose in your chest along with the increasing sense of urgency. They were coming, fast. Tyreese fired his last few rounds at the herd of walkers that just rounded the corner, and Daryl continued to fire his arrows - which would eventually run out.

"Tyreese, find the exit. We'll hold them off," you barked as you stabbed your blade through a half-exposed temple. The man paused for a moment, contemplating arguing, then nodded and headed out of sight. One particularly gross walker had been split up the torso, and its bowels hung out of it like putrid sausage. Its jaw hung limply from its rotting face, tongue lolling out like a smelling slab of meat. Bile rose in your throat and you shut your eyes.

It was a stupid thing to do.

Suddenly you were down on the ground. Fingers clawed at your ankle and a new set of nails clawed at your stomach, ripping open your skin. A small scream erupted from you as you shoved your arm forward, blocking the thing from chewing your face. A series of other pains burned their way onto your body like fire, and tears streamed down your face.

The walker by your face suddenly stilled, as did the other ones surrounding you. In one swift motion, Daryl pulled you up into his arms and sped towards a small, dingy bathroom. The fear in his eyes seemed to scare you more than the intensity of the situation.

He threw down his crossbow and instantly surveyed your wounds, paying attention the scratches on your abdomen. Blood seeped out of the slits and onto the beige tiled floor, making you feel slightly sick.

"Shit, y/n," Daryl's voice was laced with panic. His hands pressed against the wounds to stop the bleeding.

"It's not so bad. I've had worse scratches from my sister's kitten," you joked, though your attempt at humor failed miserably. Anger flashed across the man's face.

"This ain't a joke, y/n!" He yelled, making you flinch. Black spots danced into your vision and you shook your head slightly. It only made you more dizzy.

"You're right. The joke is you focusing on the scratches," you said lazily, staring into Daryl's fearful eyes. A puzzled expression crossed his face. Sighing, you pulled yourself into a half-sitting position before pulling off your tattered shirt. Daryl blushed heavily before turning to a deathly pale shade when he spotted the fresh bite in the side of your torso.

"No, no, no. No," he said repeatedly, his hands suddenly by the bite as if he could heal it. he couldn't. His head shook repeatedly, shaking free a few teardrops which spilled onto your blood-soaked skin.

"'S okay, Daryl," you said softly, gently placing your hand on his warm arm. Death was inevitable. Everyone knew that.

"Don't you dare say that," Daryl growled.

"It really is, it's okay. I'm not afraid of dying," you reassured him, though it was a lie. Everyone is afraid of dying. Especially when they have to die in front of the person they loved.

"Ya ain't gonna die. I'm not lettin' that happen. Ya gonna be fine, y/n. Ya gonna be fine," the archer's voice was now thick, choked by tears. Your own tears spilled onto your face as you watched him stare helplessly at your dying body.

"Don't let me turn."

Daryl looked at you, and for the first time you saw that he was broken. His mouth was turned down at the corners, and tears spilled down his cheeks in a steady flow, hair covering his face. Your hand found his blood-covered one as you passed him the Baby Ruth bar, also covered in blood. Your blood.

"Please give this to Michonne," you whispered and your eyes slowly fluttered shut. You were tired.

"Open ya eyes, y/n. Stay with me. Stay awake," Daryl pleaded as he gripped your hand, his other hand on your overheating face. It was now a battle whether you would die from blood loss or from the infection. This was one competition that you wished neither would win.

"I'm just tired," your voice was barely audible, sending blind fear through Daryl's body.

He never got close because he knew this day would come, but now it was here, he wish he did. He wished he'd told you how he felt. He wished he'd spent every single waking second with you, rather than attempt to distance himself. But now it didn't matter, because you were dying and it hurt all the same. God, how it hurt.

"Stay with me," Daryl pleaded finally, before he did it. Heart beating so fast he thought it would explode, Daryl place both hands on the side of your face and gently placed his lips against yours. All the times he wanted tell you how he felt, all the times you'd shared watching the stars, all the moments of ineffable feelings between the two of you filled that single kiss. His lips against yours felt like his heart growing warm and his heart shattering at the same time. It was warm because he loved you. It shattered because he knew that he would never be able to kiss you again. He would never be able to have more moments with you.

"Finally," you muttered weakly when you broke apart. Your heart would have been beating fast if it weren't pumping slowly and thickly from blood loss. New tears lined your face as you stared into Daryl's swollen eyes. Your heart broke at the sight.

"'S okay, D."

He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, placing his forehead against yours. He felt your warm, slow breaths against his face. The words were about to leave his lips; those three words that he'd been itching to say for the longest time. But then he realized it didn't matter anymore, because he no longer felt your breaths on his face. They had stopped. You were gone.

[inyournightmares97]

Behind the Laugh

For Youngjae, laughter wasn’t beautiful. That was until the day he saw yours.

Word Count: 6.2k+ 

Warning: Just language. This was merely an attempt to get over the severe writer’s block I’ve been having and I wrote it all in one sitting of like 5 hours so don’t judge me too harshly, I might wake up and delete it in the morning if I hate it or realize there was some gaping plot hole I didn’t notice. I was mainly trying to gain some momentum for a different fic.  

He fell in love with your laugh.

Youngjae didn’t understand why. He himself laughed all the time. He laughed when he was happy, when he was nervous and even when he didn’t know how to react.

For Youngjae, laughter wasn’t beautiful. It was a mask that covered all the dark things that lurked underneath. Laughter came to him more easily than everything else. Why tell the world about your suffering when you can just show them a bright smile?

Pain, insecurity, loneliness. That was what a laugh had always really meant to Youngjae.

That was until the day he saw yours.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

He first laid eyes on you at a group date.

Youngjae hadn’t wanted to go, mostly because forced social gatherings made him nervous and he never knew what to say to girls. You’re cute but you lack substance, a girl he liked had once blurted out to him while drunk. Youngjae had laughed it off awkwardly while his heart broke. He wasn’t as funny and charming as Jackson. He wasn’t as intelligent and mysterious as Jinyoung.

But he was a pushover, which was how he found himself seated opposite you at a fancy restaurant that night while Jackson flirted shamelessly with your friends and Jinyoung wooed them with his opinions on classical literature. One of the nicer girls had been polite enough to ask Youngjae about what he did and what sort of things he liked, but he’d been unable to maintain anyone’s interest beyond that.

He sat back and let Jackson steer the conversation. It was easier for everyone.  

You were seated across from Youngjae. Youngjae wasn’t sure why a girl as pretty as you had been forced to sit across from him, but the reason became evident as soon as Jackson turned his well-trained eyes on you and asked you a question.

“So, Mina tells me that you’re a lawyer!” Jackson said brightly in an attempt to include you in their conversation. He particularly enjoyed making quiet and shy girls talk; it was his speciality. “I saw this case in the news the other day where a woman was awarded half of her millionaire husband’s fortune. Do you do stuff like that often? Help women loot their husbands?”

You blinked at Jackson calmly. “Do you think divorce is a joke?”

Jackson blinked. “Uh. Not really-”

“That woman had been abused and gaslighted by the husband for two decades. He forced her to abandon her career and be a stay-at-home Mom. He controlled her and refused to let her speak to her friends. He lied, cheated, and when she finally got the courage to leave him he even tried to beat her. Are you saying that the amount of money she got from him is going to change the fact that he’s left her traumatized for life?”

Jackson didn’t know how to respond. The entire table had fallen silent but your red lips were pressed together as you waited calmly for an answer. Jackson cleared his throat and laughed awkwardly.

“Of course not, that… that sounds awful,” he stammered out.

You frowned at him. “Yes, I agree.”

“So, I guess your work isn’t particularly fun then?”

“No, I wouldn’t say so.”

Jackson nodded and quickly started a new conversation with your much nicer friend. You rolled your eyes before turning your attention back to the glass of wine. It was empty. Youngjae reached for the bottle in order to pour you more, but he found himself frozen when your harsh glare focused on him. He nervously dropped his hand.

You poured the wine yourself and didn’t look at anyone for the rest of the date.

The three men left the restaurant after saying goodbye to you and your friends. Jackson was giddy with happiness over the fact that Mina had agreed to meet him for a second date and that they had exchanged numbers. Jinyoung had also given his number to another of your friends. Only Youngjae had had a fruitless night.

“Sorry about that man,” Jackson clapped Youngjae on the back with a sympathetic smile. “I didn’t meant to make you sit across from her. Did she even say a single word to you throughout the date?”

“She glared at me when I tried to pour her wine,” Youngjae muttered.

“Don’t take it personally. Mina told me she just gets like that around men. Apparently she’s a lot more fun when she’s just around her close friends but she doesn’t really like socializing or dating. Can you believe she even paid her own share of the bill even though I said I would take care of it? None of the other girls did. What a bitch.”

Jinyoung raised an eyebrow. “Does paying for herself make her a bitch?”

“No but she didn’t need to go off on me about the divorce thing when we were all having fun,” Jackson complained. “There are two types of pretty girls; those who love attention and those who think they’re too good for everyone else. I think it’s pretty evident which one she is. Don’t worry. You can ignore her the next time we meet them. I’ll set you up with a nicer girl, Youngjae.”

Youngjae frowned. “We’re meeting them again?”

Jackson laughed awkwardly. “Mina said they’re going clubbing on Saturday so I offered to get them into the VIP section of my club. You guys have to come! I’ll look like such a loser if she brings all her friends and I’m there alone. I’ll pay for everyone’s drinks. Please?”

Youngjae sighed.

Sometimes he wished that he was better at saying no.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were excellent at saying no.

Youngjae learned this at Jackson’s club. After the group date and your cold behaviour he hadn’t expected that you would be the sort of girl who enjoyed a nightclub or party atmosphere but you were right there with your friends.

You looked beautiful. Your hair was down and you were dressed in a cute and flowy skirt that grazed your knees. It wasn’t as revealing or glamorous as the other women but it still made you look dazzling. You had been downing shots when Youngjae approached with Jackson, Bambam and Yugyeom. The moment you spotted the men your eyes narrowed and you instantly shot a sharp look at Mina; a look that screamed why did you invite them?

Mina didn’t seem to care. “Jackson!” she cried as she threw herself at the man happily. “This club is amazing, thank you so much for getting us in! We’re all having a great time!”

Jackson placed his hand on her waist and grinned. “No worries, babe.”

“Youngjae! It’s so nice to see you again! And who are these handsome men? You seem to have so many attractive friends, Jackson!” Mina giggled as she turned her attention to Yugyeom and Bambam. The two younger men were delighted to see a group of pretty girls that were interested in them and they basked in the attention that they received.

You stood where you were. Youngjae watched as you picked up two shots, downed them one after the other in quick succession and then tapped one of your friends on the shoulder.

“I’m going to dance,” you informed the girl.

“Alone?” Bambam asked you in surprise, having overheard your sentence. He perked up eagerly, never one to pass up a chance to join a girl on the dance floor. “I’ll join you-”

“No thanks.”

Bambam blinked. “Uh…”

You turned around and left the group instantly, not even glancing back as you headed to the dance floor. Bambam cleared his throat and turned to look at the other girl. He wasn’t used to being rejected, especially not as bluntly as you had just done.

“Does she usually do that? Go and dance alone?” Bambam wondered.

The other girl rolled her eyes. “She loves getting drunk and dancing alone. If you try to join her she’s just going to ignore you so don’t even bother.”

“Huh,” Bambam replied. “No problem. To each their own. Who wants a drink? Come on Youngjae-hyung, let’s go get these pretty ladies some drinks.”

Youngjae wasn’t sure what happened for most of the night because he was too busy downing the expensive whisky. He danced with a few girls but found himself feeling uncomfortably and stuffy while surrounded by the drunk girls who smiled at him a little too stupidly and threw themselves at him a little too wildly. It wasn’t until one girl practically fell on Youngjae in a giggling mess and he had to physically lift her entire weight and deposit her in a chair that he decided he’d had enough for the night.

He needed a smoke.

Youngjae was trying to wriggle his way through the dance floor so he could go to the smoking area when he spotted you. You were dancing alone. Your eyes were closed as you swayed to the music and ran your fingers through your hair. A few guys were standing nearby you and eyeing you; a beautiful girl enjoying herself on the dance floor could hardly escape male attention. One of them approached you and tried to dance with you, holding his hand out but you ignored him and turned away.

Youngjae blinked in surprise. Your friend hadn’t been kidding, you really just liked dancing alone. The man trying to dance with you wasn’t giving up. He moved up close behind you and tried again but you finally opened your eyes and shot him an intense glare. He leaned down and got closer to you on the pretense of whispering something in your ear. You flinched away from him when his lips got too close to your ear and physically pushed him away.

Youngjae tensed. Should he do something? You evidently didn’t like this man and he was still trying to get close to you on the dance floor. Before Youngjae could think to step in, you had separated yourself from the man and walked off the dance floor. You stepped outside into the smoking area and Youngjae followed you hesitantly.

The man had followed you as well.

“Hey! We were having a conversation, why did you walk off like that?” the man demanded. He tried to grab your hand but you wrestled it out of his grasp and glared at him.

“Can you please leave me alone?”

“Sure, but only after you dance with me.”

You sighed and folded your arms across your chest irritably. “I don’t want to dance with you. I don’t want to talk to you either. I’d like it if you could just leave me alone, thanks.”

“Oh, come on. I couldn’t bear to watch you dancing alone on the dance floor like that, you looked so lonely. I just wanted to keep you some company. One dance with me?” the man insisted as he reached out to grab your hand and pull you back towards the dance floor. Your eyes flashed as you yanked your arm out of his grasp harshly and glared at him.

“Hey fucktard, what part of leave me the fuck alone do you not understand?” you snapped. Everybody around was starting to stare. Youngjae watched in shock and hurried over to you. He was a little scared of you, to be perfectly honest, but it was evident that a fight was about to break out and he couldn’t just stand there and watch.

The man glared at you. “You bitch-”

“Come on man, just leave,” Youngjae insisted. He stepped in between you and the man in order to shield you from him. He glanced back at you, half-expecting you to tell him to fuck off as well, but there was a small flash of relief in your eyes as you looked back at him.

The man glared. “Who are you? Her boyfriend?”

“Uh, no-”

“Don’t bother even trying with her. Girls like that keep their vaginas locked up as if they’re made of fucking gold or something. Stupid bitches,” the man ranted.

Youngjae swallowed helplessly. He wasn’t sure what to do. He opened his mouth in an attempt to diffuse the situation but you had already pushed him aside and stepped up to the man.

“Hey dickhead,” you snapped as you shoved the guy hard and made him stumble backward. “If I hear one more word out of your mouth then I’m going to call a bouncer and get you kicked out, do you hear me? I will fucking get you kicked out of this club so turn around while I’m still being nice and find someone who actually wants to be groped by you.”

The man stared at you for a few moments. He glanced up at Youngjae and then back at you before rolling his eyes.

“Fine. Bitch.”

“Leave.”

“Fine, I’m leaving!”

He walked away and the moment he left the smoking area, your shoulders slumped in relief. You leaned against the balcony railing and pressed your fingers to your temple in exhaustion.

“That was dangerous,” Youngjae blurted out. He couldn’t believe that you’d just yelled at a man twice your size. Even he had been terrified. “He could have tried to hit you or something, why would you yell at him like that?”

You blinked at Youngjae. “I tried telling him nicely.”

“I know, but…”

“But what?”

Youngjae didn’t really know what to say and the way you were glaring at him left him speechless. He had a feeling that he would lose any attempt to argue with you. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck and laughed awkwardly. “Right. I guess so. I’m sorry, I probably should have done something about him sooner-”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why would you do anything? It was my problem to deal with.”

“I know, but I’m a guy, so…”

“Don’t. I hate fake chivalrous gestures like that,” you replied firmly. “It’s so dramatic and unnecessary. I’m a grown woman and I can handle myself. It’s not like he could really have done anything to me in the middle of the club.”

Youngjae frowned. You sounded cool and confident now but he had seen the relief flash in your eyes when he had first stepped up. Why were you lying? You had been glad to see him. You had been just as scared as he was. Perhaps even more.

“If you say so,” Youngjae muttered.

Your eyes narrowed. “Are you patronizing me?”

“No. I’m agreeing with you.”

Something about your expression looked hesitant and you sighed as you leaned back against the railing once more. Then you silently dug in your purse and pulled out a cigarette and lighter. Youngjae watched as you calmly placed the cigarette to your lips and light it. You took two drags and then held it out to Youngjae.

Youngjae stared at the cigarette held lightly between your pretty fingers.

“Uh…”

“You came out here to smoke, didn’t you?” you demanded.

Youngjae nodded and took the cigarette. There was a faint lipstick stain on the end and he blushed at the thought of placing your cigarette against his own lips. You were watching him so he quickly took a drag and then handed it back to you with trembling hands. You stared down at the cigarette and frowned.

“That asshole ruined my good mood,” you grumbled. “Why is it that when a girl is alone men automatically take that as an invitation to hit on her? Can’t a girl just fucking dance in a nightclub without attracting desperate men? And then they wonder why we’re bitches.”

Youngjae looked at his feet. “Uh…”

You glanced at him sharply. “Don’t lie. You and your friends must have thought I was a bitch after the last group date. Be honest. Didn’t at least one of you call me a bitch? I’m placing my bet on it being Jackson.”

“I mean…” Youngjae didn’t see a point in lying. “Yeah.”

You looked at Youngjae for a long moment. He was handsome in a quiet and unassuming sort of way. You noticed how he always seemed to be smiling and laughing but the smile never reached his eyes. At first glance, Youngjae looked cheerful and innocent. But there was something deeper going on behind those eyes. There was a longing but it was also accompanied by fears and insecurities.

It was almost like looking into a mirror.

“Are you lonely?” you asked him suddenly.

Youngjae’s eyes widened. He looked stunned for a moment and then he let out an awkward, half-hearted laugh. He rubbed the back of his neck and you wondered how a smile could be so fake. Doesn’t he have the cutest laugh? your friends had gushed about Youngjae after the group date. You hadn’t thought it was cute at all.

You had thought it was fake.

“Lonely?” he asked with a chuckle. “I don’t-what do you mean-?”

You shook your head quickly. “Never mind. I’m sorry. I’m a little too drunk. I think I’m going to head home. Can you tell my friends that I’ve left?”

“Sure. Do you, uh, do you need me to take you home or something?” he wondered.

“What do you think?”

Youngjae couldn’t help but chuckle. “I think you’d hate that.”

“That sounds right. Thanks, Youngjae.”

And for the first time since he’d met you, Youngjae saw the corner of your lips tilt upward in the hint of a smile. It was only the gentlest curve on a face that was otherwise exactly the same as it had always been but there was no denying the truth.

It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two months after Youngjae first met you, he decided that he was in love.

The entire group had gone out bowling that evening. Ever since Jackson and Mina decided to start dating exclusively there had been an increasing number of opportunities for Youngjae to see you. He used to be reluctant to attend social gatherings with Jackson, but these days he found himself more willing to tag along whenever he knew that you would be there.

The few words you shared with Youngjae each time excited him more than entire conversations with other girls. Youngjae was forced to admit that he was interested in you. He knew that his situation was hopeless, but Jackson took every opportunity to remind him anyway.

“I don’t understand you, Youngjae,” Jackson complained on the way to the bowling alley. “I introduce you to all these perfectly nice and pretty girls but you’re only interested in the ice princess? I give up. You deserve to be alone. You have no idea how to be grateful.”

Jinyoung sighed. “He can’t control who he likes, Jackson.”

“But she’s so mean!”

“If that’s what Youngjae likes, then let him. You’ve dated some pretty bitchy girls in the past and none of us have ever complained. Remember that girlfriend of yours that puked on my carpet and refused to get it cleaned?” he snapped.

Jackson fell silent after that.

The girls had already arrived at the bowling alley and everyone was forced to watch while Jackson and Mina shared a very public and wet french kiss in the lobby. Youngjae grimaced and turned to make eye contact with you. You were rolling your eyes. The two of you exchanged an amused glance and Youngjae felt his heart skip a beat.

Get a hold of yourself, he tried to remind himself. Fuck, all she did was look at you.

There was no avoiding the fact that Youngjae was growing slowly and steadily more attracted to you. He had never imagined that he could like someone as cold and stiff as the girl from the first group date, but the more time he spent with you the more he noticed the little things.

He noticed how you always looked out for your friends and made sure that each of them got home safely at the end of the night. He noticed how you were kind to the people who required kindness; a waitress had once been harshly fired at a restaurant while the group were having dinner and Youngjae had caught you slipping her your number while telling her to contact you for legal advice. He noticed how your phone lock screen was a picture of an adorable puppy and how you had tried to hide a blush when he asked you about it.

I adopted her from a shelter, you’d told him quietly. She’s adorable.

Youngjae thought you were adorable.

“Okay! Who’s ready to go bowling?” Jackson cried out cheerfully once he had successfully put on his bowling shoes. “Let’s do boys versus girls. You ladies are about to be dazzled by my unrivalled prowess. Try not to fall too much in love with me. I do have a girlfriend.”

You rolled your eyes as you plopped down on the sofa. Youngjae hurried to take the spot next to you.

“Is Jackson really any good?” you wondered drily.

“Not as good as Mark-hyung,” Youngjae replied with a chuckle. “But he’s not bad. He’d be better if he focused on hitting the pins and not on how cool his posture looks.”

“I can imagine.”

Jackson spent an unnecessarily long time choosing his bowling ball and talking about how important it was to use the ball best suited to your size and ability. You folded your arms across your chest and watched impatiently while he continued to talk about posture and technique.

“Just bowl, Jackson,” Jinyoung complained. “The rest of us need to take our turns too.”

“You can’t rush genius,” Jackson scolded him as he turned back to the lane. He pulled his arm back in perfect posture and rushed forward to toss the bowling ball at the pins…

...only to slip, land flat on his butt and send the ball rolling into the gutter. Jackson looked so confused by his own fall that he stared at everyone else with a shocked expression on his face.

You burst out laughing.

The only thing more shocking than Jackson’s absolute failure of an attempt was the fact that you were leaning back in your seat, your head tilted backward as you laughed your heart out. Nobody had ever heard you laugh like that before.

Youngjae’s heart skipped a beat. It was one thing to see your small smiles and the way you sometimes playfully rolled your eyes at him. Those were enough to drive him crazy. But to watch you let down all your guards and laugh your heart out at something so completely absurd filled Youngjae with this sudden love for you. You weren’t mean or cold or a bitch like everyone else seemed to think.

Behind your mask was a kind, beautiful and golden-hearted woman.

Youngjae decided, in that moment, that he wanted to watch you laugh forever.

“Oh my god,” Jackson cried as he stared at you. He seemed to have forgotten about his own fall. “She can actually laugh? I thought that frown was permanently drawn on her face. Who knew that the ice princess could actually find something funny like a normal human being?”

You stopped laughing and your cheeks flushed a deep red.

Fuck, Youngjae thought. He wanted to hit Jackson. Why would he do that? Why would he make you self-conscious about the most beautiful thing about yourself? Everybody was staring at you and you suddenly jumped to your feet. Youngjae saw the embarrassment in your eyes. He wanted to grab your hand and hold you to reassure you that it was fine, but he knew that would only make things worse.

“I… I’m going to the bar,” you mumbled. “Somebody else take my turn.”

You hurried off, leaving the bowling lanes and heading towards the bar on the other side of the bowling alley. Your purse was left abandoned on the seat and Youngjae felt a sudden burst of anger. He glared at Jackson, who was still sitting on the slippery floor.

“Why would you say that to her?” Youngjae snapped.

Jackson blinked. “Huh?”

“You can really be a dick sometimes, Jackson.”

“But what did I do…?”

Youngjae ignored him as he grabbed your purse and hurried to follow you. You had already found a seat at the bar, and were currently downing vodka shots. He took a seat beside you. You didn’t lift your head to look at him. He cleared his throat.

“Are you okay?” he asked carefully.

“Of course I am, I’m not a child,” you snapped.  

“Jackson can be a dick sometimes.”

“I know.”

“Can I have a drink too?”

“Buy your own.”

Youngjae smiled. Your cheeks were still flushed red and even though your words were harsh he found himself able to see past them. You were feeling shy, he realized suddenly. The knowledge made him feel even more affectionate towards you. He waved to the bartender quickly.

“I’ll have whatever she’s having, please. Keep them coming.”

The bartender passed him another shot and Youngjae quickly downed the alcohol. It burned as it went down his throat but it gave him the confidence to say what had been on the tip of his lips for a long time. He took a deep breath and looked into your eyes.

“Why do you hide all the most beautiful things about yourself?” Youngjae demanded.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “What?”

“You’re kind and caring. You take happiness in the most innocent things and you’re always helping people who need help. You’re even shy and humble. Why do you hide all these things with your cold exterior? You’re so beautiful underneath that I don’t understand why you would want to hide these wonderful things about yourself.”

Your eyes widened and Youngjae wondered if he had gone too far, maybe he had pushed too hard too soon. You blinked at him for a long moment and then you looked up at him. The look in your eyes was intense but Youngjae refused to avert his eyes.

“Why are you asking me this? Is it because you hide the ugly parts of yourself?” you demanded.

Youngjae tensed. “This isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t it? You assume that I’m hiding things that I’m ashamed of because that’s what you do, Youngjae. You’re hiding your sadness and your insecurities behind your smile because you don’t want people to see them. I’m not hiding things I’m ashamed of. I’m hiding things that are precious to me because I don’t want people to destroy them,” you replied quietly.

Youngjae stared at you. “What?”

“The only thing worse than letting people know what makes you insecure is letting them know what makes you happy. Insecurities and pain are always there, there’s nothing you can do about them. But some things are too precious to me. If I let the wrong person in then they don’t just learn my insecurities, they learn my happiness too and they can turn that against me so easily.”

“But-”

“But nothing,” you mumbled. “It’s the same mask, we just choose to hide different things behind it.”

Youngjae didn’t know what to say. He fell silent and simply watched you reach for another shot and drink it. Your lips came in contact with the shot glass and he noticed the light lipstick stain that it left behind. It reminded him of the cigarette that you had passed him in the nightclub. It reminded him of the relieved look in your eyes when you had seen him step up to help you.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Youngjae asked quietly. “You know that I’m developing feelings for you. If you don’t trust me enough to let me in then I don’t want to push.”

“I-I don’t know,” you admitted.

“Okay. Just… tell me when you figure it out.”

“I will.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first time you fell in love with Youngjae was when he finally revealed a glimpse of his insecurities to you.

It was ironic because you loved seeing Youngjae laugh; his genuine laugh, the one where he threw his head back and expressed every last drop of happiness left in his body. You hadn’t imagined that anything could inspire more affection towards Youngjae than his contagious and angelic laugh. It made him look incredibly handsome and warmed your heart.

That was until the night of Youngjae’s birthday.

Jackson had thrown him a party, since Jackson Wang used absolutely any excuse to throw a party and you had all been invited. Despite yourself, you spent a lot of time choosing your makeup and finding the perfect dress to wear. It felt foolish since you had never bothered with things like this before, but with Youngjae you really wanted things to go well. Somehow the man had weaselled his way into your heart.

That was scarier to you than anything else.

Hopes are easily destroyed.

“You know what? I am so tired of seeing Youngjae alone. Tonight, I am going to set him up with somebody,” Jackson declared loudly and within earshot. The party had barely started and you had only briefly managed to wish Youngjae a happy birthday before his attention was diverted by other people. You lurked around with your friends after having found a drink.

“Leave him alone, Jackson,” Mina scolded.

“On his birthday? No way. He deserves to be loved. I’m going to find him a nice girl.”

You ignored him. This wasn’t the first time you had heard Jackson say that he would set Youngjae up with somebody and it had never worked out so far. Deep down, a part of you secretly wanted to believe that the reason for this was that Youngjae liked you too much, but you didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole. It was scary.

It’s too easy to think you know a person when you don’t. You’d helped enough unhappy couples divorce in order to be certain about that truth.

The truth was that you didn’t know Youngjae that well.

And perhaps you never would, because the only thing you knew for sure about him was that he liked to put up walls around himself just like you did. It wasn’t the best connection to base a relationship on.

“Love,” Jackson kept ranting on drunkenly. The party had barely started but he was already deep in the booze. “Love doesn’t base itself on any logic. You know the only thing necessary for love? YOu need to be ready to fall. That’s it. Everything else is irrelevant. You just need to be ready. What do you say, miss divorce lawyer?”

You rolled your eyes. “You can love whoever you want but think twice about who you marry.”

Jackson frowned. “Hmm. That’s good advice.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you like, jaded because you help so many couples split apart every day? Have you given up on love? Are you embittered and left unable to trust, is that why you won’t give our Youngjae a chance?” Jackson demanded suddenly. You stared at him while Mina tried to get him to shut up awkwardly.

“Jackson, shush-”

“Did he say that I wasn’t giving him a chance?”

“No, but it’s obvious he likes you and you’re just so cold and mean all the time…”

Mina finally placed her hand over Jackson’s mouth and gave you an apologetic sorry, he’s drunk. But you could already feel your stomach turn. Youngjae had hinted that he was developing feelings for you but did he really like you? Enough that it was obvious to someone as obtuse as Jackson? The thought simultaneously terrified and excited you. You didn’t know how to feel.

You just really wished your mind would decide what it wanted.

You had a few more drinks and after dancing for a while with Mina and the other girls in the living room, you felt the need to sit down. Youngjae was nowhere to be seen. Unable to find any unoccupied seating space in the living room or dining room, you found yourself opening random doors in search of somewhere to sit.

The third door let out an oof! as you opened it.

“Youngjae?”

He had been sitting behind the door while leaning against it. He looked up at you in surprise and quickly shut the door so that you were both plunged into semi-darkness. The only light in the room was a small night-light in the distant corner.

“Shhh, not so loud. Jackson keeps looking for me.”

You narrowed your eyes before deciding that your legs hurt too much and you needed to sit down. You plopped down onto the floor beside Youngjae and smiled at him.

“Are you hiding from him? Why?”

“He keeps saying he wants to set me up with some nice girl,” Youngjae admitted with a sigh. He leaned his head back against the door and his dark hair flopped into his tired eyes. “What’s the point? He keeps trying but none of them will ever stick.”

“Why do you think they won’t stick?”

Youngjae turned his head to glance at you. “Isn’t it obvious? I know what they’re all thinking. I’m cute but I lack substance, right?”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not serious. Who told you that?”

He looked uncomfortable and then shrugged. “A girl I used to date. It’s okay. I’m glad she was honest with me because until she said that, I had no idea what I was doing wrong. I don’t blame her. It must have really sucked to deal with me everyday.”

You didn’t know what to say. How could such a kind and sweet person feel so insecure about himself? It was one thing for an ex-girlfriend to say that about him but had Youngjae really accepted the criticism as part of his personality? He was a million times more sweet, caring and kind-hearted than any other men you knew. It pained you to see that somebody so wonderful would think so little of themselves.

“You’re wrong,” you told him.

He blinked at you. “What?”

“You’re wrong. You have plenty of substance. You’re sweet and you’re humble and you’re trustworthy,” you told him. You felt your stomach turn as you glanced up at him. “I don’t say things like that unless I mean it. I deal with a lot of selfish and proud men every day at work. You’re not like them. At least… I don’t think you are.”

Youngjae looked at you. In the dim light his eyes were shining. “But you don’t know for sure. That’s why you’re always tip-toeing around me these days, ever since I told you I had feelings for you.”

“It’s hard to know anything for sure about a person,” you mumbled.

“I used to hate going on the dates that Jackson set me up on because I didn’t think that I could keep any of the girls interested long enough to have a relationship,” Youngjae told you quietly. “But now I hate going on them because none of those girls are anything like you. I keep comparing them to you and it’s torture.”

You stared at him. “Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”

“No,” he said. “I’m just telling you the truth.”

There was a long moment of silence and then you took a deep breath. Maybe it was time you were honest about the little things that you’d been feeling as well.

“I bought this dress and a brand new lipstick just for tonight,” you admitted reluctantly. Your cheeks flushed red. “I wanted to look pretty for your birthday.”

Youngjae chuckled. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You look really pretty,” he told you softly. Your heartbeat thudded as Youngjae softly scooted closer to you. His shoulder pressed against yours and the warmth of his body made your skin tingle. Youngjae’s dark gaze slowly drifted down to your lips.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Youngjae…”

“Hmm?”

“Come in.”

He stared at you for a long moment and then gave you a reluctant smile. You could see the mixture of emotions swimming in his eyes; relief, anticipation and excitement. You didn’t know what else could be hiding behind those dark orbs but for the first time you wanted to plunge into them regardless.

“Are you sure?” Youngjae wondered. “You might get bored of me. You might not like what you find if you get to know me better.”

“You might not like what you find either,” you reminded him.

“Hmmm.”

“It’s a risk but maybe we can accept that and take it anyway?”

He nodded. “I like the sound of that.”

You pulled him down and pressed your lips against his. Youngjae kissed you back sweetly, the way he had always wanted to. His arms pulled you closer and you enjoyed how warm and reassuring Youngjae’s hands splayed on your back felt. You wondered if the way your heart was racing in your chest was normal.

Youngjae’s lips caressed yours carefully, his tongue slowly sliding along your lower lip until you opened your mouth to him. Your entire body felt warm and when Youngjae’s fingers slid into your hair you felt yourself tremble. Fuck. Youngjae pulled away for a moment to take a breath and looked down at you. His eyes were dark.

“I can’t really see your new lipstick but it tastes great,” he told you with a chuckle.

You stared at him. “Oh my god.”

Youngjae smiled as he rubbed his thumb over your cheek. “I love seeing you blush and laugh,” he told you. “So I’m going to try my best to keep you blushing and laughing. That’s my current game plan. What do you think?”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“So you don’t like it?”

“I love it.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

[jemej3m]

What Now? (p1)

where andrew and neil are single dads and their kids hate each other. 

 Neil hated the administrators. They sat at the front desk and looked up at him with enormous eyes, eyelashes fluttering as they asked: “What’cha lookin’ for, hon?” She smiled, almost beseechingly, as she stood. “Tour? I can show you around.”

“Actually,” He cleared his throat, pulling his sleeves down. “I’m here for Robin.”

The woman’s face turned sour, though she did her best to remain neutral “Right. You said you would be here a half hour ago, Mr Josten. The others have been waiting. Take a seat, I’ll let Headmaster Boyd know.” 

I’m sorry, Neil wanted to snap. That some stupid kid has managed to aggravate Robin and that I’m a full-time working single father. Jesus Christ, people were shallow. 

He dropped into a plastic chair, straightening his shirt again. His hair was still a little damp after his 30-second shower: Convincing his coach to leave practise early was never easy, but he was one of the few teammates with a kid. And the only one of that small group who parented alone. He probably had a few more concessions than the rest, but he couldn’t afford to spend them on shit like this. 

Opposite him was a broad-shouldered man, staring at him. Unimpressed. Did he recognise Neil? He hoped not. He wasn’t in the mood for a facade. The staring continued. Neil elected to ignore him in favour of looking at the ceiling. 

When Robin was shuffled out by her classroom teacher, Danielle Wilds, she gave Neil a sheepish look. He stood up and offered his hand, which she let rest on her head. Touch was still incredibly unfamiliar to both of them. “What’s this all about, Robin?”

She pointed to the bruise on her jaw. “I pushed him after he called me bad things. Then he punched me back!” 

Neil glowered. It didn’t explain why his adoptive daughter was getting in trouble. She could sense that he knew she was omitting details of the story, and hid behind his hip as they followed Danielle Wilds down the hall. 

Behind them, the blond man stood. He was shorter than Neil - a feat in itself, really - but it was as though Neil could feel needles stabbing into the back of his skull. He took Robin by the hand as he lead her into the headmaster’s office, and immediately observed his surroundings: The enormous glass window looking out over the school’s courtyard, where kids were dressed for phys-ed and playing with skipping ropes, the mahogany desk, the shelves of books, the trophies and certificates of achievement on the walls. Boyd had a picture of a young girl with wild, curly hair by his computer. The man in question was sitting relaxedly in his chair, tattoos visible through the white button-down, his cuffs loose and rolled to mid-forearm. His hair was spiked with gel, and 

There was a young boy, sitting opposite him. He had black hair and green eyes, looking nothing like the blond man who sat next to him. The son was probably getting close to his father’s height. Both of them wore distasteful sneers. Like father like son, Neil supposed.

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” Neil asked, when there had been too many moments of frigid silence. “Robin? Anyone? I’d like to know exactly why I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Josten --”

“Neil.” 

“Neil.” Boyd cleared his throat. “Robin and Kevin have been having some serious disagreements over the past few weeks. Neither seem willing to compromise, or come to an impasse. We usually like to guide students to conflict resolution, but this is getting out of hand. Isn’t it, Kevin?” He looked at the boy. “Robin?” Neil’s daughter withered under his look of disappointment. 

They both pointed at each other. “They started it!” 

“Kevin always tells me that I’m dumb and get all the answers wrong.” Robin wailed. “And he hides my pencils!”

“Robin scribbled in my maths scrapbook.” Kevin huffed. “Then she hid my completed spelling homework --”

“Wasn’t me!” 

“And then she put grapes in the bottom of my bag, and they’re all squishy!” 

“Are you sure that your own grapes didn’t spill, Kevin?” His father implored. 

“You’re very good at losing pencils, Robin.” Neil shook his head. “Maybe you’ve lost them?”

“No!” Both of them cried. 

Momentarily, Neil looked to the other father, and recognised the look of pure frustration furrowing the man’s brows. 

Boyd rested his elbows on his desk, clasping his fingers beneath his chin. “But is that why we’re here today?”

Both of the children quietened. 

“What the supervising teacher told me was that she saw Robin push Kevin, who hit her on the face.” He gestured to the bruise on Robin’s chin. “The other children said that Kevin was calling her names. I would like to reiterate that there is a strict, no-violence policy at this school, and would like you both to go home and think about the way you have behaved. Neil, Andrew: You should help them reflect and compose apology letters to one another. I’ll see you all tomorrow morning.”

Andrew glared daggers, standing abruptly and ushering his son out the door. Neil grabbed Robin by the shoulder and dragged her out. 

When they caught up to the other pair, Neil sniped: “Really appreciated being dragged in here, thanks.”

“Maybe butchering is a hereditary thing, hm?” Andrew examined his car-keys. They were sleek, an expensive model that Neil couldn’t possibly name. “Such a shame.” 

Neil fumed. Sensing Neil’s irritation, Andrew turned a blank look on him; Neil wondered how someone with such a void-like gaze could be a parent. 

“Let’s go home.” He murmured. Robin tucked herself into Neil’s side and they hurried out of the administration building together. 

Here’s how it goes:

Neil was almost 24, and coached Exy teams in Couth Carolina’s little league. He’d got out of his family’s criminal history through his Exy scholarship, but never taken it further. He hadn’t even really liked kids, but it was something to do.

Then, because Neil’s tragic existence seemed to be catastrophic for those around him, a car t-boned into a van outside his apartment. Neil, always running in the early hours of the morning, immediately rushed over. The sedan’s driver was a crumpled heap, blood splattered across the windscreen -- he most likely dead, so Neil ignored him. But there were screams coming from the back of the van, so he yanked the damaged door open. 

Bruised and bleeding, curled into the corner of the van, was Robin. She was thrown into the foster system as an infant, and was then kidnapped at the age of three. No one cared about a foster kid going missing. Her missing person’s file was practically non-existent, especially after 2 years. Robin had clambered into his arms as he pulled her out of the back of that van, and he hasn’t had a full night’s sleep since. 

Four years later, he’d set up a scholarship program in the little league, his daughter was making enemies at her new school, and Neil still didn’t regret a thing. 

Andrew sat in the car and thought about the best way to approach this. For Kevin’s sake, he would be a role-model. But every inch of that Josten had him wanting to clench his fists. Of course he knew of him: Exy had gotten him through college. The Josten scandal was everywhere: Leaving the Ravens for the Trojans, Jean Moreau quickly following suit, the Butcher of Baltimore, the Moriyamas, the FBI; Then, settling down to coach kids. That drama had to be almost a decade ago, though. Didn’t matter. Exy had never mattered to Andrew. His degree had also been second thought: His occupation was satisfying, but never thrilling. 

Having a kid, though. Jesus. 

Kevin was a handful and a half. He was brimming with energy and emotion, repressed anger and competitiveness creating a volatile reaction to most situations. Andrew had taken Kevin in after his mother’s death, his old exy coach, Wymack, being the father but being unable to, you know. Father. 

Andrew didn’t understand how the fuck he was meant to be any better. 

“I’m sorry, Andrew.” Kevin didn’t look that apologetic. “She’s just super annoying! And she wouldn’t shut up about how her dad’s team is the best, and she loves her dad, and he’s the best, and how she’s going to play Exy too. Exy, exy, exy. All the time! It drives me insane! She talks so loudly, too. And so much. She never shuts up.”

Andrew could read his son. “Usually people aren’t this successful at getting under your skin, Kevin.”

“I hate her!” He frowned, his lips puckering. It was stupidly adorable. Andrew hated the word adorable. “I really do, you know. She’s always teasing me about liking history and reading my books. She can’t even do maths!”

“Remember what I tell you, Kevin.” Andrew switched on the ignition and swerved out of his car-parking space. He searched for the flash of an expensive sportscar, of which would be presumedly Neil’s, but he couldn’t find one. 

“Be the better person so you can shove their own failures up their asses, I know.” Kevin drew his feet onto the dashboard but Andrew swatted them down.

“No feet on the dashboard.” He pointed at Kevin but the brat pushed his hand away, promptly sticking out his tongue. 

God, why did he decide to have kids?

Oh yeah. He didn’t. Right. 

(Still didn’t believe in regret, though.)

i hope this made sense! 

i just think itd be hilarious lmao imagine seeing a parent in the lobby and be like damn and then figure out that their kid and your kid hate each other

[saixy]

fears

Post-KH3. A parallel between past and present. Isa looks back on his old worries as a child, and how this fear shifted over time.

- - - - -

“What’s your biggest fear?”

It was a question prompted by a game they often liked to play while stargazing: truth or dare. The former was typically easiest for him, since the very prospect of Lea’s outlandish dares sparked anxiety. ��Death,” Isa eventually answered, albeit reluctantly. “Or rather, the thought of nonexistence.” He had never really spoken on the matter before. There had been no need, as their conversations were predominantly lighthearted in nature. Isa preferred to keep things like this to himself, for the most part. Lea wore his heart on his sleeve, but Isa prided himself on being difficult to read. Lea was seemingly exempt from this rule. Annoying as it could be, Isa was glad for someone who could understand him to such an extent. “Why? We’re immortal, remember?” It was a ridiculous notion, one that Lea seemed rather fond of. Immortality had been a joke between them for a long while now, prompted by Lea’s miraculous ability to escape stupidly risky situations with little more than a scratch. Isa snorted with thinly veiled amusement. “What are you talking about? Everyone dies, Lea.” “Hey, don’t say that.” Lea shifted to a sitting position, leaning over Isa with an uncharacteristically serious expression. Isa craned his neck to the side, as Lea’s face was now blocking his view of the sky. “Right, sorry. You can live forever in memories, stuff like that.” Lea had always been rather adamant on that subject, more so than anything else they had debated. Isa suspected it played into his own fears, but had never sought confirmation. Lea moved his head again, leaning in closer to place himself at the forefront of Isa’s vision. “Memories are everything, but that’s not what I’m saying here.” He still wore that odd, almost somber expression. “I meant that we’re immortal.”

“That’s not an explanation and you know it.” Isa was impatient and somewhat flustered at the sudden invasion of personal space, but he willed himself to keep his cool. “Us. You and me. Ya know. Like—“ Lea gestured helplessly, waving an arm at the sky overhead. “Like soulmates.” There was a pause, where Isa was rendered temporarily mute from the boldness of the suggestion. “We’ve been dating for less than a week,” he finally said in an incredulous tone. “Shut up! Not just in that way—“ Isa noted the ‘just’ as a sign he had meant it at least partially in a romantic sense. “I mean..I can’t really explain it, but. I feel like no matter what happens, we’ll always be together.” There was a fierce glint in Lea’s eyes, and it was clear his words were sincere. Isa responded in turn, lifting a hand to idly twirl a bit of Lea’s hair that had fallen loose near his face. “If it’s death we’re dealing with, I can’t deny that’s a possibility.” Personally Isa never had expectations for any sort of afterlife, but he was open-minded. “But what about the other thing? Ceasing to exist completely. Losing your identity--your very sense of self-- and never knowing because you wouldn’t be around to comprehend it.” Isa wouldn’t admit it, but this was the aspect of passing on that unsettled him the most. The thought that he could just blink out one day with no warning. Or even worse, without realizing it. Carrying on as a mindless puppet blissfully unaware he had already met his end. That was the plot of the only horror movie that had ever truly frightened him, and it had been lingering in his mind ever since. Isa closed his eyes, shutting out the sun for a moment as he struggled against the whirlpool of mounting panic threatening to drag him down. There was a reason why he never talked about things like this. “Hey,” Lea ghosted fingers across his cheek, searching for tears that Isa absolutely refused to allow. He wasn’t even choked up at all, but it seemed like Lea could sense this was a difficult topic for him. “Forever means forever. Got it memorized?” “You’re being stubborn.” “I am. So what?” “You’re always like this. Especially with the topic at hand, I’ve noticed.” “And you love me for it.” A rather blunt statement for such a new concept to them. Although it wasn’t new at all, not really. They’d always cared deeply for each other, and this was just a previously untouched way of expressing it. “That I do.” Isa hesitated, realizing the boy hovering above him had dodged the point yet again, no doubt purposefully. He wondered if he should push the matter, but decided against it. Instead he leaned forwards slightly, closing the gap between them. It wasn’t their first kiss, and it wouldn’t be their last. But it still had a sense of finality to it, one that Isa could sense even back then. It was as if in that moment, their fate had been sealed. Two things Lea had said that night would stick in Isa’s head over the next decade, becoming a mantra of sorts. Forever is forever, and memories are everything.

- - - - -

It was mostly brief, instinctive flashes of thought and feeling. Rather than concrete memories, they were similar to the lingering remnants of a dream. The more Isa tried to chase them, the more they drifted out of reach. Sometimes he would stare a little too long at the hazy amber reflection of streetlights on rainy pavement, or freeze at the passing sound of a stranger’s laugh. Isa didn’t need to put it into words, and he was grateful for that. Lea seemed to instinctively understand. He had always been good at empathizing with others, a skill Isa had lacked. And so whenever he was struck with one of these odd moments, Lea would wait for him. Always patient, an unwavering beacon of support. Lea helped drag him back down to earth, tying him to the life he had now rather than painful echoes of the past.

And it was a good life, a better one than he’d ever realistically expected. He was home again, finally free from suffocating white walls and the cloying stench of darkness. Reconstruction of the city still had a long way to go, but the Restoration Committee had already made considerable progress in the few years since Radiant Garden was reclaimed. Isa had even managed to snag a spot on their management team, allocating resources where they were needed most and deciding which parts of the city’s old layout to keep and what could be improved upon. He quite enjoyed the work, more so than what he’d initially anticipated going into it. The labor was slow, but ultimately productive. And something that held a lot of meaning to him. It was no dream astronomy job, but he was happy.

The highlight of his day would always be returning to his house, a cozy little abode near the fountain district. The site of their former homes lay further away from the city center, in a segment of the city that had been all but razed to the ground. The higher ups had deemed it a low priority area, which Isa was determined to change. But for now, this location was perfect. Moving in with Lea had been an easy decision, and when Ansem had offered them the house as reparation for the horrors they’d been subjected to as children, he could hardly refuse. Roxas and Xion had an apartment where they attended school in Twilight Town, which was also funded by the castle’s reserves. On breaks and weekends they frequented Radiant Garden, and Isa often flew to Twilight Town after work to hang out or assist them with projects. At first he only visited alongside Lea, but as the awkwardness faded and they settled into more of a family dynamic, Isa would fly over of his own accord. Being split between two cities like this wasn’t ideal, but Isa’s heart and responsibilities lay in Radiant Garden and he couldn't ask those kids to give up the place that had always felt like home to them. They deserved what had been stolen from Lea and himself so long ago: the chance to grow up at their own pace in a safe town surrounded by those who care about them.

It was hard not to think back when he was constantly surrounded with so many reminders of his past. This was a caveat of choosing to live where he’d both grown up and lost his heart. There were memories tied to everything around him. A street where they found a stray dog once, a storm drain that had claimed Lea’s favorite frisbee and led to an impromptu journey through the sewers. These flashes were mostly pleasant, if bittersweet, snapshots into their former life. The painful memories were there too, mainly tied to the castle itself. Working there was stressful at first, but he managed. Isa avoided the labs, and everyone respected this. From the start, it had become obvious that honesty would be a necessity with this arrangement. It was still a struggle to be open even with himself after spending so long shutting people out, but Isa made an effort to try. So he voiced what made him uncomfortable, and confided in his friends whenever he was struggling. He would often reminisce with Lea when they were together. But sometimes he still preferred to ponder things alone. This was one of those nights, as he sat on a fountain’s edge gazing down at the rippling reflection of the moon. During his childhood he had always been somewhat reserved. He was the model student, in the eyes of many. Never afraid to state his opinion when asked, but often choosing to hang back in favor of watching his classmates. Isa felt as if he learned more by analyzing the classroom than from the teachers themselves. He could easily spot the holes in the other student’s arguments and use them to amend and strengthen his own. The process was simple, and one he knew all too well. Observe, pinpoint a weakness, execute. Again, one of those things that stirred up almost-memories. It was bitter ash on his tongue and a glint of steel in the moonlight. A wolf stalking its prey for days on end until it finally determined the optimal moment to lunge for the killing blow and drown the world in gold. Muffled sobs torn out by a blade as ruthless as its owner. It had been easier when he wasn’t in control. Terrifying at first, but he eventually found comfort in the moments where his mind buzzed to static. It was painfully ironic how quickly he had come to accept this fear of losing himself. He was always somewhat present, but his body was on autopilot. ‘Plausible deniability’ was one of the phrases that had been thrown around after the war was won. Many on the side of the keyblade wielders were sympathetic to his position, but there were also those who voted against the pardoning of himself and the others that had been tied up in Xehanort’s plans. In their eyes he was simply a byproduct of darkness, broken beyond repair. Xehanort was dead, so they wanted a scapegoat. It was only natural. The need for blame was understandable, so Isa paid no mind to the glares he sometimes received walking through the city streets. Radiant Garden had suffered greatly, more so than the other worlds claimed by darkness. The Fall happened so swiftly not all were able to relocate in time. And with Ansem and the castle guard opting for a seige approach, the citizens were left to fend for themselves. Many were reborn in a similar fashion to Isa and the rest, but not all. This great loss of life was what drove him forwards in his work to help others, despite the scorn he often received. Once he’d have been outraged to take the blame for a calamity beyond his control, but now Isa carried that weight with a weary acceptance. Of course they all struggled with their own demons, some worse than others. It was their burden to bear, and Isa was fine with it. He was lucky, all things considered. After everything he had still managed to regain his heart, body, and mind. He had a family now, and he loved them more than anything. The sun, the moon, and their two stars shining through the twilight mist. It was a picturesque ending, one fit for a storybook. It was more than he could have ever hoped for. It was entirely unfair. He still felt this lingering sense of dread, as if he shouldn’t be here. Similar to when Lea had dragged him into various schemes of dubious legality in days gone by. Sometimes he entered his own house and for an instant he was holding his breath behind a hedge on the castle grounds. Arguing the technicalities of blame was a fruitless endeavor, as it would do little to ease the crushing weight of guilt that had settled deep within his chest. His memories were fragmented, but he was still very much aware of his own actions within the Organization. He knew the series of events and how everything had played out, but had difficulty recalling anything beyond an impersonal recap. His own thoughts and ghosts of emotions he may have felt at the time were still a mystery for the most part. It seemed Lea had no issues with this, and as such Isa suspected the lack of memories regarding individuality was a result of Xehanort’s prolonged influence over his mind. As far as he knew Terra was the only one who described a similar experience, which only strengthened this theory. He supposed the automatic distance was nice, in a way. It helped build a concrete separation between Saix of the past and himself in the present. Still, at times the cold numbness made him sick. He was working from the facts here, and could only guess at the reasoning behind some of his past actions. Back then he’d convinced himself that miserable state of existence had split him into a being of pure logic. After all, there were no longer any emotions to interfere with his decisions. Nothing to sway him from what must be done. Oh how wrong he was. In retrospect he felt like a fool, denying what had been in plain sight for so long.

Roxas and Xion had made Axel truly feel something again. Tangible, undeniable emotion that defied all reason. And now Isa realized they were to thank for his own shift in demeanor, near the end. Axel’s first taste of emotion had been love for his newfound family. The need to protect what was in front of him had outweighed the tired notion of striving for a seemingly unreachable goal. Years of hard work had granted very little progress in regaining their hearts or finding the girl once held in captivity. And tired of chasing ghosts, Lea had latched onto the present moment and found a cause that could light the spark he’d been seeking for so long. Isa wasn’t so lucky. This pathetic shadow of a heart had manifested itself as jealousy, sharp and bitter. And only then could he feel the underlying anger that had been driving him forward for so long. It was rage beyond reason, a swift undercurrent threatening to overwhelm his senses at any moment. And when he did allow it to take control, it was different from before. Berserking had once sent his consciousness into a state of almost peaceful dissociation. Now it was like wading through a river of dissonance, icy tar filling his lungs as a whirlpool of screams sucked him down into the murky depths. And this Styx became his own personal hell, something he dreaded. Because it made no sense why he’d be struggling with this now, after years of brutal training had hardened his edges and honed him to flawless lethality. The fighting style he’d mastered was hinged on relinquishing control, but he’d never actually felt unsafe while doing so. What had he worked so hard for all these years if his own mind would prove to be his downfall? During those few moments of lucidity in the final battle, he could do little more than hold his head and cry out in agony as daggers pierced his skull and keyblades rained down from above. A call for help, manifesting itself in the only way he knew how. And it had worked, in the end. Despite everything Lea was once again hovering over him, blocking out the sky with his own blinding light. That tearful smile sweetened the taste of death, and the following kiss moments before he faded finally left him with a reason to pray to whatever tyrant god responsible for these endless years of pain for another chance at life. Maybe immortality wasn’t so far from the truth after all.

“You’re upset.”

The sudden voice echoing through the courtyard startled Isa from his thoughts, but he quickly relaxed at the familiar tone. He gave a noncommittal hum, watching Lea approach the fountain where he sat. “I haven’t said a word.”

“Don’t need to.” Lea took a seat beside him, wincing at the shock from the fountain’s spray. Isa was wearing a jacket that slicked off the stray droplets, but Lea’s sweater would no doubt end up soaked. “It’s the way you’re sitting. Like you’re trying to make yourself as small as possible.”

Crossed arms held close to his chest, one leg propped over the other. Isa hadn’t even realized he was so tense until he had been called out on it. “I trust you’re not just here to analyze my body language?”

“Nah.” Before Isa could ask, Lea offered the reasoning behind his deduction. “You never sat like that before. Only during the later years of the Organization.”

Right, one of Saix’s mannerisms. Or rather, Xehanort’s. He hurriedly uncrossed his arms, instead choosing to grip the edge of the fountain. The stone was cold and damp against his bare skin, and he welcomed the sensation. It was the little things like this that unsettled him the most. How easily one could fall back into learned behavior. “Why do you have to be so damn perceptive?”

“It’s part of the charm.” Lea wasn’t wrong there. And honestly, Isa wouldn’t have it any other way. Flashing a warm smile, Lea rested a hand on his shoulder. The gentle weight was reassuring. Isa closed his eyes in return, leaning into the touch.

“You know I’m here if talking would help.”

He’d been trying to open up more, for the sake of both of them. The hardest part was figuring out where to begin unravelling the tangled knot wound deep within his heart. But Isa was quieter now, overall. Or so he had been told. He hadn’t noticed a difference until Lea had pointed it out recently. Now that he was aware of the change, he could definitely see it for himself. Where he once would have chimed in with a quick jab or retort there was only silence. Isa found that during these moments, he was simply unsure of what to say and when to say it. He was more hesitant now, afraid of speaking out of turn and accidentally causing harm. The banter between himself and Lea had always felt so effortless, but now it was halting and unsure. They had moved past walking on eggshells long ago, but now Isa was treading on a self-imposed path of fine china. He knew they’d move beyond this too, eventually. When more time had passed and old wounds had the chance to heal over. Recovery was an ongoing process, and they were both very aware of this. He’d learned that honesty was an important step in building back those bridges, so this time Isa decided to share what was on his mind. Talking things over with Lea almost always made him feel better. Rather than take him up on the offer directly, he went for a different approach.

“Hey Lea. Truth or dare?”

“Wait, what? Where’s this coming from?” Lea raised an eyebrow, obviously confused at the question. At Isa’s glare, understanding seemed to dawn upon him. “Oh. Well, I’m feeling like this is a truth sort of night.” In their childhood Lea had always favored dares, much to Isa’s chagrin. Thankfully he caught the drift here.

“Do you still believe it? What you used to say when we were young. Memories are everything.” He called back to the old quote so casually, as if he hadn’t been repeating it over and over when memories were all he had to remind him why life was something worth fighting for.

Lea spent a few moments in silence, gathering his thoughts. Isa took the opportunity to lay flat against the stone wall, head resting in Lea’s lap as he faced the sky. Since his return to Radiant Garden, stargazing had quickly reclaimed its place as one of his favorite pastimes. The familiar view brought with it a certain sense of stability and comfort.

When Lea finally spoke, he lowered a hand to settle lightly in Isa’s hair. “Memories are important, but they can’t define us completely. It’s a double-edged blade. The effect you leave behind on people-- it can be a gift, but just as easily cause harm. And sometimes you misjudge.”

“It wasn’t all an oversight.” And that was the sickening part, what fueled the guilt that often kept him awake at night. There was a time where he’d knowingly hurt those who were now closest to him. And so many others he’d never see again. Innocent bystanders caught in the carnage of a struggle that was not their own. There was no way to tell for sure how much blood was on his hands, and Isa wasn’t sure he’d want to know even if it were possible.

“Of course not. Conflict is...it’s cruel, Isa.” There was a slight tug as the hand moved to stroke downwards, gently combing through his hair. This was a new method of comfort, one that Lea had quickly picked up on when they’d been reunited after the war. “The important thing is to cherish the good moments and learn from the bad.”

It was true that Isa had learned a lot throughout this whole ordeal. About himself, the world as a whole, and his relationships with others. He was still struggling for self-acceptance, but at least he had a better understanding of things than before. He was able to identify exactly what had led him to the eventual downfall that had nearly severed his bond with Lea. Now that he’d strayed onto the wrong path he could move forwards along a better one, making amends wherever possible. They had made an oath then, when Isa had first regained consciousness. Joint sobs echoing through laboratory halls as they swore to never allow anything or anybody to tear them apart again.

“My turn now. Truth or dare?”

At least he’d answered directly this time. Isa was satisfied, so he supposed a question in return was fair. “Is there a point in asking?”

“Well, yeah. Otherwise it’s not a game.” As if they were doing this for fun in the first place. Lea mulled over his options, still stroking through Isa’s hair. “When you wake during the night, you look so...terrified. What is it that you’re scared of?”

This question did catch him a bit off guard. Isa had never confided in him or anyone else about the nightmares. And Lea didn’t push him to say anything, always helping him through it without question. Speaking about it in the moment would only make the experience more painful, but Lea deserved to know. Maybe not the full details yet, but the recurring themes that caused him to panic.

From the direction these questions were taking Isa was sure Lea was also thinking back on that night so many years ago. It was one of the last they had spent together, perched on a rooftop in their favorite spot overlooking the castle gardens. He had known infiltrating the castle was a risky move, but neither of them could have ever guessed that only a few days later they would wind up as the next victims of the horrific experiments that had already claimed hundreds of innocent lives. So Isa looked back fondly on that last week or so, where the mounting pressure of continuing their investigation without being caught was briefly drowned out by the innocent joy of newfound love. He settled for a simple response, falling into Lea’s old habit of avoiding the real question at hand. “You asked this before.”

“And the answer?”

Isa should have known it would be pointless to try such tactics against the king of deflection himself. “...Dying is overrated.”

This earned a chuckle from Lea. Oh how he’d missed that sound. “You were able to face your fears, at least.”

“As for you?” This time Isa’s curiosity got the best of him. He might as well ask.

“Hey, it’s my turn to ask the questions here.” Lea paused from doting on Isa’s hair to leave a reprimanding tap on his nose. “...You’re right though, it’s the same for me. When we were kids, I...I really didn’t like the idea that I could ever lose you.” He smiled down at Isa, a bit sadly. “Guess that never changed.”

No matter how much Lea tried to hide it, Isa could still hear that lingering pain in his voice. Even during the quieter moments like this, emotions still ran high. It was so much better than not feeling at all, but almost a full year later and he still found himself adjusting. So when he spoke to open up in return, it was a struggle not to get choked up. “I wasn’t afraid of death as a concept, but more so the threat of losing myself. Now that I’ve lived out that reality...I’ve come to accept it.” It was still there, a distant possibility but present nonetheless. The lingering fear he would once again be dragged down by the mind of another. It would never truly disappear, but at least it was no longer a driving factor in his life. Isa refused to give that fear the opportunity to control him. “That’s not what haunts me now. Not exactly.” Now that he’d started, speaking like this was a lot easier. “I’m not frightened of myself, or the possibility of Xehanort’s shadow still lurking in my mind. I’m afraid that I’ll lose everything we’ve worked to rebuild. Our home, our family. Us.” There was no hiding the tremor in his voice, and this time when Lea shifted a hand to Isa’s cheek he was met with tears. Once he might have blamed it on the fountain spray, but now he valued such displays of emotion. It was a sign of life, a reminder that they could allow themselves to simply feel without shame or denial.

“Isa...I won’t let that happen.” Those words were spoken with so much conviction Isa could almost believe it.

“I know--I know. And yet...” His throat was tight again, and so he took a shuddering breath rather than try to finish the thought.

“That’s the thing about fear.” Lea was blotting out the stars again, a curtain of crimson to shield Isa from the world. “It can be irrational, but that doesn’t lessen the pain.”

Isa’s words were little more than a whisper. “For so long I’d assumed I was too far gone. I only feared that you would be taken away from me as well. That’s why it broke me, when...” he trailed off, as there was no need to further explain. They’d already discussed this and made amends, but speaking of past mistakes never got any easier.

“I’ll do anything to ensure you never have to feel that way again.” Lea’s voice took on a slightly grim edge, reminiscent of days gone by. Isa hadn’t heard that in a while, but here it was welcome.

Isa laughed breathlessly. “I’m the only one responsible this time around. And that’s the one thing you would never do. Hurt me.” After all, it was Isa’s own mind supplying the nightmares and the anxiety that followed him through the day.

“Inflicting pain isn’t the only solution.” Internal warfare like this wasn’t the type of combat they were accustomed to. Lashing out was all they’d been taught, and Isa still had to remind himself of this, even when the foes he faced were no longer a physical threat.

“Then what is?”

Lea’s silence spoke volumes here. Neither of them had all the answers, even if it was easier to pretend otherwise. Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks as Isa closed his eyes. The sun often had a blinding effect and now was one of the times where he had to look away for fear of making the pain worse.

“Love.”

Isa wasn’t expecting an answer, so his eyes flew open at that. Such a deceptively simple word for how drastically it had shaped his life. “I know you love me, but that won’t stop the nightmares.”

Lea moved his head closer to press lips against Isa’s forehead. “s’ not an instant fix.”

“Nothing ever is.” His breathing was steadier now, soothed by Lea’s touch.

“That’s not always a bad thing.” And it was true. If life’s problems were so easy to solve then he’d never have realized the how much of a difference embracing his emotions could make.

“Guess I’m a long-term project.” Isa dipped into that sense of dry humor as the darkness clutching at his heart began to retreat, warded off by the flame that had always lit up his life.

“You’d better be,” From the smile against his skin, Isa knew Lea was glad that the encouragement had finally managed to get through.

“I am. Because we’re immortal, right?” He managed to surprise Lea with that, and Isa savored the brief expression of wonder before it was drowned out by a proper kiss. And he suddenly understood what Lea had meant all those years ago.

[suddeninklings]

This Is Why I Need You. Dr. Esther Song knew when she accepted one of the coveted Foster Fellowships that she would be spending her days far away from bustle and worry of society. She prefers it this way. Alone with her books and her tech, cut off from the world, she watches the stars, searching for signs of new galaxies beyond what once was known, but when she pulls a strangely clothed man out of the waves below her home everything changes. He’s gravely injured and cannot remember how he ended up in the water or who attacked him. All he knows for certain is that his name is Quentin Beck and he is from another earth.

Introduction.

“Fire all the drones. Now!”

Quentin Beck felt the bullet hit him almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth. It sliced through his grey illusion suit as easily as a needle through felt. Perhaps he should have regretted the call. After all, it seemed that his death was now eminent. Blood gushed from the wound in his side as the pain cycled through his system. Shot. He had been shot. By his own tech. But this wasn’t his fault. Spiderman was to blame. No, not Spiderman. Peter Parker. That idiotic brat. Quentin had given him every chance. Every goddamn chance to walk away. To get out of this life. A life that was never meant for a kid. Nick Fury didn’t seem to care, nor did any of the other adults in the kid’s life. His own family. Stark and his crony. None of them seemed to care that they were willingly and knowingly placing the fates of millions in the hands of a boy who couldn’t even drum up the courage to talk to a girl. Quentin had given Peter the out he was too stupidly noble to ask for. And not only had Peter ignored his warnings, ignored the fucking gift he had offered him, he dragged his friends into the firing range with him all over again. Quentin cursed under his breath, stomach muscles painfully shifting as he tried to draw himself towards the wall. A sickening warmth soaked his hand as he pressed it deeper into the wound. 

Shit. I knew this would hurt, but shit. A pained groan escaped him and he could taste a metallic tang growing in the back of his mouth. He hadn’t wanted any of this, but he was bound to this path now. All thanks to that fucking kid from Queens. 

Peter would have to pay. They would all have to pay. An idea sparked through his head, even though his focus was split between crafting an escape and attempting to keep his blood in his body where it belonged. Yes of course. It was perfect. Doable too, if he could keep his wits about him just a little longer. With a groan, Mysterio pulled him to his feet, his bloodied fingers dashing across the control panel strapped to his wrist. With a deep, gasping breath, he reached for the gun strapped to his side, whispered several orders to Walter and sealed his fate. As pixels of green light shifted and pulsed around him, Quentin felt his whole body filled with adrenaline. A grave, baleful smile spread across his face as his final illusion came together. Any guilt he felt dissipated into nothing. He knew what he was about to do would ruin the kid. Whether or not he was cleared of wrongdoing. His secret would be out. Whatever anonymity he had left would be gone. But it wasn’t his fault. No, Mysterio would remain a hero. Even in death. Prepped and primed for a heroic return of virally epic proportions. 

For even in death, there was no going back. 

-

In 2023, Anything was possible. Anything. In 2012, alien ships fell from the sky, decimating the city at the center of the world. In 2013, a dark elf tried to unleash dark matter into London. And in 2018...half of the population disappeared in seconds. 

Then the blip came. And went. There was more to that story than anyone would ever know. All of the key players had disappeared. If they weren’t killed. All the ones they knew of, at least. 

Many were joyous. Despite the death and destruction. We knew. There was life on other planets. Billions of creatures. Some that looked like us. Others that didn’t. It was thrilling. It was reason to celebrate. There was more out there than we ever guessed. Worlds to see. Galaxies even. 

Anything was possible now. And it scared the shit of Esther Song. 

She tried not to dwell on it. But it was difficult, especially when her equipment was down. But motherboards had to reboot every now and again. With nothing to do, she tried to focus on her books but the quiet was...well, disquieting. She looked to her record collection, but nothing seemed enough to draw her away from her stifling reality. So she dipped into the refrigerator and pulled an IPA from the back. Cracking it open, she headed outside, hoping the roar of the waves would be enough to drown out the noise in her head. 

A bone white moon hung high and heavy in the sky above the Scotland shores. The air, still warm from a troublingly hot summer day, tossed her hair around as she stepped across the small back lawn, gravel crunching loudly underfoot. She paused, pulling at the scrunchie around her wrist with her teeth until it finally tugged off her wrist and into her free hand. Lifting the bottle to her lips, she walked on, savoring the feel of the icy cool liquid as it slid down her throat. She came to a stop in front of an aging wooden fence that kept visitors safe from the cliff sides just beyond it. She set her beer down on one of the posts and lifted her arms back, fingers pulling locks of hair together at the top of her head until she was certain she had most of it trapped. She slipped the tie into place, brushing several shorter strands behind her ear as another gust of wind passed her by. 

Behind her sat the Wallace Point Lighthouse. Built at the turn of the last century, it was squat compared to most, but still impressive at 16 meters. It’s structure was white stone and it showed little signs of age. The viewing bay at the top was constructed of diamond shaped glass and surrounded by an intricate iron railing that stretched all the way around. It was topped by domed crown painted a rust color reminiscent of clay. At the base, jutting out inland, a small square addition had been made, boasting a pitched roof, painted the same shade of clay red and sporting two thin chimneys, one on the easterly side, the other on the west. While the coastal side of the property was marked only by the original wooden fencing, a tall, white wall surrounded the remained of the property. It had been built several decades after the lighthouse was raised. The only way into the property, aside from beach below was through an iron gate that could only be opened by special code. But it wasn’t just a lighthouse. In actuality, the lighthouse had no need to be manned by a living being. The light was scheduled to automatically flash seawards every five seconds. It’s true purpose, the reason it continued to receive funding, was a secret only she and a handful of others were privy to. It had taken some getting used to, but after eight years, Esther finally felt comfortable enough to call Wallace Point home. 

Even after all the years that had passed, the sound of the ocean below was still a wonder to her. It was equal parts magnetic and frightening in a way all it’s own  She would often make the somewhat perilous journey down the set of steps that had been carved into the rock and walk along the shoreline until the sun had set. They were often slick with seawater and sand; a natural and necessary deterrent for any curious neighbors or tourists. That and the local rumors that the old lighthouse was haunted by Sir James Wallace himself. But she wouldn’t dare to venture down now that the tide had risen and the winds tossed the sea around as easily as if it were nothing but a street side puddle. The smell of the air, heavy with salt and kelp, was enough to dull her minds leanings. She rolled her shoulders back, adjusting the hood on her sweater shirt and zipping it up to her collar bone, the chill of her drink settling into her veins. She reached for it again, gazing up at the moon. It was full tonight, shining bright enough to dull the light of the surrounding stars. She shifted her eye to the north, naming the constellations aloud as she scanned the sky. She had known many of them, known their names by heart, by the time she was nine years old. 

She sighed, leaning against the railing as a familiar feeling a dread began to broil inside. Everything she wanted to forget. It was always calling for her attention, creeping and crawling at the back her of her mind like a vexing parasite. Not even the raging ocean below could keep it at bay for long. She was about to head back inside when a shadow down below caught her eye. If it wasn’t for the moon’s light, she wouldn’t have seen it at all. She leaned over the railing, staring down into the murky depths of the shoreline. 

“S’not possible.” Esther muttered, shaking her head and taking another drink. It looked like...someone was swimming? No, it can’t be. You’d have to be crazy to go out there now.

“Someone!” A voice heralded over the wind and the waves. “H-Help!” 

“Oh god!” Esther, turned on her heel, making for the stairs. She hurried down as gingerly and as quickly as she could manage. When she reached the final two, she jumped them, her feet sinking into the damp, dark sand.

“Help!” The voice came again, sputtering and panicked. 

“I’m coming!” She called, the hood of her sweatshirt slapping against the back of her head as she fought through the troublesome terrain. “Hold on!”

By the time she had reached him, he had managed to crawl mostly to shore. She waded into the waves, grabbing at his arm and pulling him in. Water soaked through her jeans, weighing her down. He choked and coughed as she tugged. Somehow, she managed to get him to shore. He crumpled onto his hands and knees, gasping for air. 

Panting, Esther knelt beside him. “Are you crazy?! What were you...thinking…”

A strange flash of green caught her eye. It was hard to see clearly in the waning light, but whoever this man was, he was dressed quite oddly. A long, dark cape heavy with water stuck to his body. What wasn’t covered looked more like armor than clothing, it’s strange muted metallic color catching the moonlight even though it was awash with clumps of kelp and globs of sand. Esther leaned forward her fingers tugging at the seam of the cape at his shoulder and trying to pull it off. 

“What’s your name?” Esther said, trying to catch his attention. The man seemed in-and-out of consciousness. “Hey!” 

“W-what?” He answered. His voice was raw and waterlogged. 

“Your name?” Esther said, louder. Fisting a large portion of the cape in her hands, she gave a mighty tug. The thick threading tore open and the cape came free. “There”

“H-Hey!” His eyes fluttered open, and he sat back on his knees, arms flailing behind him.  “W-what are you doing?”

He spun around, trying to catch her wrist, but Esther drew back, up and onto her feet. He glared up at her for a moment, before pitching forward, looking for a second as if he was going to wretch. 

“It’s too heavy.” She explained, drawing the fabric into a large, dripping ball. Even wet, the fabric felt strangely luxurious, almost like velvet. “There’s no way I can get you up the stairs with this...um, thing. Can you walk?”

He considered her words for a moment, drinking in air and dodging her eye. “I-I think so…” 

“Okay then,” Esther said, tossing the cape to the side. She stood up and held her hand out to him. He looked up, eyeing it. 

Esther swallowed hard. With his head tilted up, she could see him more clearly in the light. He looked like half dead, but even beneath the bloodshot eyes and mussed beard she could see signs of a maddeningly angular face. His eyes were a sharp, icy blue that seemed to slash straight through her. 

Oh no, She thought. This outfit...the cape...that hair...he must be a-

He slapped his hand into hers, interrupting her train of thought. With a grunt, Esther pulled and he managed to clamor to his feet. She craned her head back, at his full height he had to be at least a foot taller than her, his golden suit, tailored precisely to his figure flaunted his broad build. He paused a moment, eyes closing as he took a deep breath in. His hand found her shoulder and he shifted some of his weight to it. 

“Ah, sorry.” He muttered, swaying slightly. 

“Um…” She said, too quietly. She shook her head and tried again. “Are you ok-?”

“Yeah, I just need to-” He moved to step away. “Argh-”

He took a sharp intake of breath and crumpled against her, nearly toppling to the ground. With a shout, her arm went around his middle, her knees shaking as she tried to hold him up. His body pressed leaned onto hers and she could feel something warm soaking her jacket against her ribcage. 

“Are-are you bleeding?” She asked with a grunt, fearing the answer. 

“Seems that way,” He muttered, his hand finding the wound. He groaned and almost sent them both to the ground. Esther had to adjust her footing so they wouldn’t both fall back down to the sandy floor. 

“Great,” Esther muttered. “Well, come on then.”

She took a step towards the stairs, which now seemed like a mile away. He followed suit, limping as he did. What Esther had done one her own in under a minute took them together close to twenty, but eventually that made it to the top of the cliff. By the time they made it, they were both shaking like leaves. 

“Just a little further.” Esther gasped between breaths, feeling as if she could keel over herself. She could feel his blood flowing from the wound. There goes my jacket. She thought bitterly as she reached for the door and pulled it open. As she stepped inside, she pulled away from him to close it. 

With another wet cough, the man stumbled forward, his body falling to the floor in a heap of skin, bone and metal. Esther spun around, her hair falling loose from the tie. She took him in, her hand still poised over the lock. 

The suit was still gleaming from the salt and the sea. In places, there were shards of light built into it that shuddered with a pleasant blue green glow. Hesitantly, Esther turned the lock on the door, the sound of it echoing loudly in her head. With slow, careful steps she approached him again, lowering herself to her knees by his shoulders. 

“Um,” She said, gently nudging him with her hand. “Sir? Are you...have you…”

No response came. With a sigh, she placed her hands on her lap and took a look around her home. 

“Well…” She said aloud to no one in particular, her arms flying uselessly into the air as she scrambled up to her feet. 

“Shit.” 

-

Thank you for reading! I definitely spent way to much time looking up lighthouses in Scotland, but none of them really fit the idea in my head so I just made up my own lol. 

[allthingstarker]

Tony's Old Tee

I don't even know what this is, I just loved the concept and had to write it...sorry it's kinda longer than I expected :/

Inspired by a previous post of Tony's old tee and the wonderful @the-mad-starker (who I apparantly can't tag...), please let me know if this was actually any good!

To others, it might seem stupid. However, to Peter, having a favourite item of Tony's clothing seemed perfectly understandable.

To others, it would just be some stupid science tee with a half-witty pun printed over it. To Peter, it was so much more. It was a tee that Tony had owned for over a decade – that in itself proved that it meant something to the older man. It was the first item of Tony's clothing that Peter had ‘stolen’ (claimed as his own), the first night that he'd stayed the night under more than just business terms.

It was the tee that Peter now wore every morning that he woke up in Tony's mansion – which was becoming more of a regular occurrence, lately. It was the tee that, whenever Tony saw him wearing it – sleeves almost reaching his elbows, the fabric hanging loosely over his small frame – he would visibly melt, bringing Peter in at the waist until their chests met in a flurry of heartbeats, lips pressed to one other in a sweet, early morning kiss with aftertastes of bitter coffee and toast.

So yeah, to Peter, having a favourite item of Tony's clothing was nothing out of the ordinary.

In fact, Peter loved this tee so much, he would practically parade around in it. He’d wear it to school with a smug smirk, usually hidden under a sweater or hoodie of his own, but on occasion he'd sit in class with the tee on full show. People didn’t think anything of it. Well, Ned wasn’t stupid; he'd always send Peter a knowing look (eyebrows raised and a hidden smile on his lips) whenever Peter strolled into class wearing said tee.

But nobody else would understand – why would they?

Peter found some strange pleasure in that, which didn’t really make sense, but the fact that he was literally wearing billionaire Tony Stark's old tee, pulled from the genius' closet that morning in Peter's half-awake state of mind whilst Tony Stark himself stood in the kitchen below cooking them both breakfast, and nobody knew about it - well, it was a nice feeling to say the least.

Peter would always end up sat in class biting back a smile that threatened to spread across his face whenever he thought back to those moments.

There had been the awkward encounter with Aunt May, when she'd gone to grab his dirty laundry and found the tee sprawled by the bottom of his bed. Once she’d noticed it, she’d questioned him because ‘I don’t remember seeing this before?’. Peter had blushed, grabbing the tee and trying to hide it – despite the fact that Aunt May had no way of knowing who it actually belonged to.

She’d tutted, rolling her eyes as she took it from his hands muttering about how she didn’t care if it was someone else's, but it smelt and it needed a wash.

MJ, much like Ned, wasn’t as oblivious as Aunt May, however. Peter had gone round to her place for a movie marathon with her and Ned – getting there first, of course – and he'd been wearing the tee. It'd been a couple days since he'd seen Tony; the older man had been called away on some small mission with the Avengers and – no matter how much Peter insisted – Tony argued against allowing Peter to join. Peter had only stopped arguing after Tony admitted that he just wanted to keep ‘his boy’ safe as best as he could, leaning down to press his lips to Peter's, calloused fingers running over his smooth jaw and keeping him steady.

The musky, pine and almond scent of Tony still lingered in the fabric (he hadn’t even worn the tee since Peter claimed it as his, but it gathered the older man's scent from spending most of it's time surrounded by his other clothes). Peter inhaled the addictive aroma, eyes slipping closed momentarily.

When he finally opened them back up to the present, he found MJ watching him with an almost pitying smile. He tried to shrug it off but he knew there was no point, and so he sat beside MJ on her couch, pulling the tee incredibly closer to himself in the hopes that it would bring Tony home quicker.

MJ didn’t even say anything, simply nudging him gently with her shoulder and sending him a soft smile before switching on the TV and shouting at Ned (who had just arrived) to hurry his ass up and sit down.

The funny part of Peter parading around in Tony's tee, wearing it like some sort of badge-of-honour with a proud smile, was the affect that it also had on Tony. Peter never noticed it, but that was probably because he wasn’t really looking for anything.

Tony would smile over the top of his morning mug of coffee at Peter's small body looking practically lost inside his old tee, hair ruffled (both from the previous night's events and simply the younger's habit of fidgeting in his sleep), eyes half-lidded and a cute smile on his lips. He looked delicate. Fragile, almost. A whole world away from the brave Spider-Man who spent his free time helping strangers.

Tony saw the happy glint in Peter’s eyes whenever he wore the tee, saw how the boy hugged the fabric closer to his body and breathed in it's scent – something of which caused Tony's insides to do uncontrollable flips. He never understood it, he just knew that it brought a smile to his face.

And perhaps Tony didn’t try to hide his feelings; there had been an embarrassing encounter during a set-up with a few of the Avengers, in which Peter had strolled in from the other room wearing the oversized tee and leggings of all things (God, this boy drove Tony crazy), earphones in as he hummed away to some popular song and grabbed an orange juice from the fridge. He hasn’t even noticed Tony, Steve, Bruce, Natasha and Clint sat around the table only a few feet away – typing away at his phone as he left the room again.

Unfortunately for Tony, his fondness of his boy was showing as he watched him leave, looking absolutely adorable – and Tony made a mental note to convince Peter to wear leggings more often.

The others in the room all turned to look at Tony, eyebrows furrowed because they'd definitely seen that top before and it definitely hadn't been Peter wearing it. Bruce even had the nerve to smirk at Tony.

‘Shut up.’ Tony grumbled, wiping his stupidly love-struck smile from his face and sending the others a hard glare. They all shrugged, but he knew that the topic would come up again.

Tony couldn’t really find himself caring much, however. Especially not later that night as he was peeling that damn tee from Peter's torso, tossing it across the room to be forgotten about until morning as his lips attacked Peter's own in a ravishing kiss that left the two breathless and pining for more.

[miracle-jan67]

Floo Powder Incident

It was an elated morning with gleaming steams of sunlight. Harry’s heart was soaring at the top of his chest as he watched George shouted ‘Diagon Alley!’ and vanished into the light green flame.

 It was his first time using the Floo Powder. ‘It’s okay,’ beamed Mrs Weasley who had obviously sensed the panic inside Harry, ‘ Just shout out clearly about where you are going and step into it, I promise you it will be quick and easy.’

 He stared blindly as Ron vanished into the fire. He then grabbed a handful of Floo Powder from Mr Weasley’s hand, and stepped forward.

 With blank mind like a new parchment and shaking limbs like trees in the wind, he realized the light green flame had blasted high with a roar abruptly, and before he could pronounce any word, a hard, unstoppable force had propelled him into the endless and infinite unknown.

 The anxious and panicking yells stirred and mix into a blur. The breathlessness overtook Harry as if thousands of tentacles tangled and trapped him in the dark. He was spinning, gulping yet no air come into his lungs; he was yelling, yet no sound came out of his throat.

 After what’s like a decade’s time, there he felt himself was in the flame again, and was pushed as the flame gave a loud crack and returned to the normal orange-red flame.

 Lucky I didn’t die, Harry thought. But situation was far more dreadful than he could ever imagine. There wasn’t any shops or robe shops, no giggling and prankish kids at his age wandering around the alley. There wasn’t any alley, not even a street.

 A spacious, sumptuous lobby it was, with every luxuries Harry could imagine: greyish green carpet lying on the floor; a wooden cabinet with costly goblets displayed inside, the golden words embossed on the goblets were blinking brightly; a grand, long dining table situated in the middle of the hall, with a vast chandelier suspending above it, gleaming with streaming light from the handsome window.

 Harry got to his feet, panting, and reached for his wand in his pocket. He knew he had learnt very little of jinxes, but holding his wand seemed to give him a sense of security. He looked so small and innocent in this immense hall, and he had totally no idea where he was.

 A few footsteps appeared at the gargantuan doorway. Harry felt his heartbeat leapt a beat, soon he crawled to the end table with black cloth covered beside him, and hided underneath. He left a crack to observe the outside surrounding. The door banged open and a proud, blond hair man who was swathed with expensive-looking cloak and accessories stepped in.

 A boy with blond hair followed by with his head down, and Harry swallowed. Cold sweat was oozing from his skin and he began to realise how damning the situation was.

 Clearly he had just came into Malfoy’s house. He could imagine Ron’s expression when he said ‘bloody hell’ while he heard about this.

 Harry was thinking fast.

 He had no Floo Powder and the only exit was through the gate of the Malfoy’s house. But even if he could get out of the house, he could not know the way back to the Weasley’s. Moreover, how could he do that without being noticed by the Malfoy’s?

 The worst thing was, the house he was currently trapped into was belonged to his worst enemy at Hogwarts, the guy who was the least he wanted to see, and the least possible guy who would help Harry.

 ‘ Don’t you forget to practice piano for at least 2 hours.’ The man said in a commanding way without looking at Malfoy. Harry could now understand from where did Malfoy learn those mean and cold way of speaking.

 The man who clearly was Malfoy’s father turned to the door and stepped outside without telling his son where he was going.

 ’Yes, Father.’ Retorted Malfoy defiantly with his head down. After that, the door slammed close.

 Malfoy was in a dark green cloak, carrying heavy piles of books and bags of stuffs that seemed to be the quills and ink. Frankly, he had just gone to the Diagon Alley.

 I should be at Diagon Alley buying stuffs for school with Hermione and Ron, instead of being stuck in the bloody house of Malfoys, thought Harry grumpily.

 Malfoy had vanished into the corridor that seemed leading to the other rooms. Harry’s legs started to be sniff, so he changed posture and sat down. After a while, like half a minute, Malfoy tramped into the hall again.

 It was the first time he had stayed with Malfoy alone in a place. He was always surrounded by his arrogant gang of Slytherin, bossing around and bullying others, especially Harry himself. He didn’t understand why Malfoy liked to tease him so much, as if he despised every single part of Harry, even the breath or the way he walked could possibly annoy Malfoy so much.

 Malfoy was standing in the hall beside the long table, staring blindly at the window. His blond hair glossy, glowing under the golden daylight. His blue eyes were covered in grey and loneliness. He seemed to immerse into the greyness and shadowy of this place.

 It was very strange of him. The swagger attitude in Malfoy when he was at school seemed disappeared, instead, he looked gloomy and woebegone. Harry expected his gang would have visited him during summer, at least Crabbe and Goyle would have accompany him as they seemed to be his best friends, just like he and Ron and Hermione.

 Malfoy stumbled to the piano situated opposite to where Harry was hiding and sat down.

 To Harry’s surprise, he played really well. Harry had barely known anything about music, but every single note entering his ears was striking directly onto his heart. He felt himself all alone in the middle of the sea as the loneliness in the notes touched his heart. Although Malfoy was rather rude and loathsome, Harry had to admit that he got astounding talent.

 However, it wasn’t a great time to enjoy music. I need to find some Floo Powder, Harry told himself. He sneaked out carefully, luckily Malfoy was too focused to hear him. He walked sneakily on tiptoe to the corridor without being noticed.

 The corridor was wide and long. The doors were painted into deep grey, the light was getting dimmer and dimmer as he walked far from the hall. After passing around ten doors, Harry saw an little attic on his right hand side. He stepped into it, searched and searched, on the table, in the cabinet ( he nearly produced noise when he moved the goblets), under the sofa, yet he couldn’t find any trace of the Floo Powder.

 Harry stepped out of the small attic disappointedly and continued his exploration. He walked past a few doors and turned left. The music outside was still playing.

 This part of the corridor was eerier than the other, because there was nearly no light in here. A few torches were hanging on the wall, and Harry could barely hear the music outside.

 Soon he reached a spiral staircase which was made up of wood. Harry looked up and found that it was leading to the second floor. Gorgeous it was, yet also weird. The handle of the staircase was a vast serpent which its mouth wide open, its fang long and sharp, and its eyes was bulging and evil. Suppressing his own fear, Harry went up the stairs and dared not to touch the handles, as if it was a real serpent.

 Harry reached the second floor. An endless corridor extended beyond the far. He wondered why the music could still be heard even by this far. He proceeded, and realized every door was identical.

 Harry stood silence and swallowed.

 There he stood in front of a door which looked a lot bigger than the other, with a name embossed on it. ‘Draco Malfoy.’ Harry murmured to himself.

 Maybe he has got some Floo Powder. Harry thought to himself. Although deep in his heart he knew that it was unlikely that parents would let a twelve year old boy to keep the Floo Powder, he still put his hand onto the handle and pressed.

 The first impression Malfoy’s room gave him was the greenish tone and the glamour it revealed. The large bed was twice the size of Harry’s own, yet he didn’t understand why Malfoy had to sleep on such a large bed. The pile of book and the stuffs he bought just now was lying on the ground casually.

 ‘Ouch!’ Harry accidentally stepped on the long, strange looking package wrapped in paper. Frankly, Harry was not arrogant enough to open the package and see what’s inside, yet he was quite curious about it.

 He looked away from the package and turned around, and a pile of parchment on the desk entered his sight.

 The parchment was quite tattered, and there seemed some drawings on them. Harry lean towards the desk and took a clearer look.

 A boy with dark hair was drawn on it. Though it was not a masterpiece with any great drawing skills, Harry recognized the boy in the first sight. Who else in the world had got a lightening scar on his forehead and wearing a dump looking and round eyeglasses?

 Soon Harry realized he himself was drawn on every single parchment on the desk, every Harry was smiling stupidly (in Harry’s opinion) at him and words like ‘scarhead’ or ‘saint Potter’ were labelling on top of the drawings.

 Anger and abashment were racing in Harry’s vein, he almost wanted to rush downstairs and gave Malfoy a punch, but he couldn’t dare. It was, after all, Malfoy’s own house and he was just an unbidden guest.

 Harry was too busy looking at the drawings and sank into the sea of anger, so when the music stopped and footsteps were getting louder and louder, he couldn’t realise it.

 ‘Boom!’

 The door banged open and Malfoy, which face was white and petrified, was standing at the door with his wand drawn out.

 ‘Potter?!’ Malfoy shouted unbelievably, ‘what are you doing in my house?”

 To Harry’s astonishment, he took a glimpse of the happiness in Malfoy’s eyes when he saw Harry. He couldn’t have seen wrong, the delightfulness was shimmering in his eyes and he was sure once Malfoy had seen him, he put down his wand.

 ‘I……’ Harry couldn’t find a word. ‘I didn’t…’

 ‘Wait,’ interrupted Malfoy. He rushed hastily past Harry and stood in front of the desk, hiding the parchments. He looked embarrassing, his ears and cheeks were in burning red. Harry reminded of the scarlet common room of Gryffindor. ‘what are you looking at?!’

 It seemed that Malfoy was trying to cover his panic by shouting loud at Harry. Harry looked straight into Malfoy’s eyes, and he found Malfoy’s face became redder, eyes gazing other directions, dared not to look back at Harry’s eyes.

 ‘I saw nothing.’ Harry lied, ‘I have just got in.’

 Malfoy scowled at Harry. Clearly, Malfoy was not that innocent to believe him. They fell into silence.

 After staring at each other awkwardly for some time, Malfoy finally cleared his throat and broke the silence.

 ‘So what could famous Harry Potter be doing in my poor little house?’ He said sarcastically.

 ‘Your house is big,’ Harry couldn’t think of anything to strike back, it was his fault at the beginning. And it was normal and expected that Malfoy would be furious at him. ‘I got lost.’ Harry added quietly.

 ‘Of course my house was big.’ Malfoy was contented with such compliment, ‘It is a manor actually. The Malfoy Manor.’

 ‘wait, wait,’ he stared suspiciously at Harry, ‘don’t change the subject. You haven’t told me how you came here.’

 ‘Exactly why I must tell you……’

 ‘it’s okay then,’ Malfoy gave a wicked smile, ‘I’m going to tell my parents that famous Harry Potter has broken into my bedroom and……’

 ‘it’s alright!’ Harry said exasperately.

 It was shameful and resentful to tell his worst enemy about the stupid experience. Harry was speaking so quietly that Malfoy frowned and had to lean towards him to listen. He tried to make it finish as soon as possible because he didn’t want to stay that close to him. Although Malfoy didn’t interrupt or show any impatience, his gazing made him felt as though he was trying to make a hole in him by staring long enough. Harry was sure once he had finished, Malfoy would laugh out loud about his stupidity and promised to tell the whole school about it.

 However, to Harry’s surprise (the third time today), Malfoy didn’t laugh at his dump act. Instead, he said something that made Harry jumped.

 ‘So you are dating Granger, right?’

 Harry froze. He looked up right into Malfoy’s greyish blue eyes, still couldn’t believe what he had just heard. He must be talking gibberish. Yet Harry perceive Malfoy’s mood was somewhere between inflamed and bitter.

 ‘What are you talking about?’ Harry was rather astonished and confused, ‘The main point is…’

 ‘Indeed,’ he sniggered, ‘you are dating the mudblood indeed. That sounds like your way, Potter. Hanging out with mudblood and blood traitors.’

 Here he comes again, Harry thought darkly. It was quite a mystery why every time he had a row with Malfoy, it was always about Hermione and Ron. Harry wondered why there is such despicable person on earth.

 ‘Shut up, Malfoy. Don’t you dare call Hermione like that.’ Harry was annoyed and he could not know why Malfoy had come to this ridiculous conclusion, ‘the point is, have you got any Floo Powder?’

 ‘No,’ almost immediate after Harry had asked, Malfoy answered, ‘besides, it isn’t the tone of pleading, Potter.’ He folded his arms, ‘and it should be your pleasure to stay in my spacious place instead of staying at Weasley’s cramped and poor house.’

 ‘Oh don’t talk rubbish,’ Harry snapped, ‘who wants to stay at your place?’

 ‘yet you came here.’ Malfoy added.

 Harry was started to feel hungry, impatience was rushing to his brain through the nerve impulses. He found no point in arguing with Malfoy, he found that out every time he faced him.

 Harry did not reply. He just simply frowned and stepped forward, ignoring Malfoy who was standing in front of him, ready to leave as soon as possible. He wanted to taste the delicious roast chicken made by Mrs Weasley and filled with the warmth of the Burrows.

 Yet Malfoy clearly did not want him to. He moved to the doorway, blocking the exit and still folding his arm, looking down to Harry in a sinister way and sneered with one tip of his mouth lifted. His eyes glowed eerily, looked as though he was going to cook and eat Harry.

 Though Harry did not want to admit, he was startled by Malfoy’s momentum. Harry asked loudly to boost up his courage, ‘Out of the way, Malfoy！’

 ‘What if I don’t, Potter?’ he said in a wicked smile, ‘such a good chance to catch you red-handed. If I report you to my father, he will surely praise me with such a great act.’

 ‘No you won’t.’ Harry was ready to give Malfoy a pretty punch on his face and had a good fight with him. He stared at Malfoy furiously.

 However, Harry panicked as he heard footsteps approaching from downstairs. His heart racing, cold sweat sticking his clothes with his skin. Perhaps he could never escape if his father knows. Harry thought. The Malfoys may torture him to death. Harry could not control his mind, horrible images kept spinning in his head.

Harry turned around and headed to the window hung high beside the bed. Even he himself didn’t know what was the plan or how he was going to escape.

[brownjet-archive]

Cheeky

Pairing: Legolas x (f)Reader  (SORRY!!!)

Summary: Legolas decided to be a little cheeky ;)

Word Count: 1,500+

A/N: Yeah, so it’s super short cause it seemed to end well and I’ve been working on this since I was like 12 and idk how to continue, so here ya go. Okay, so I always see super fluffy Legolas fics, but no, he’s a sassy little ass, so here, have some sassy little Legolas

Warnings: Everyone has a fucking ugly laugh, man. Also,,,,,,lots of swearing

Masterlist

Traveling with the fellowship, albeit terribly enjoyable (despite the intentions behind everything) was still awfully annoying. Especially when it meant that you were surrounded completely by men. You had no problem with it, it’s just that after awhile it became very emotionally taxing. Especially when it meant that there was only time for one group of people to bathe, more often than not, that being everyone else, because they drastically outnumbered you.

It also didn’t help that your sole focus on this mission was being the medic. It was the only way you could volunteer yourself, not having any particular amazing heritage or incredibly valuable skill set. Not to say that you weren’t a good fighter, no. You were definitely amazing in combat, being more agile and nimble than the rest (except for a certain Elf prince), despite the fact that outside of combat, you have the tendency to trip on air. They all knew what an asset you were, although it often slipped their minds that such a quiet and meek-ish human was essential to their journey, often taking you for granted.

But no more. You had a plan. Which, now thinking about it, probably wasn’t gonna work. You let out an audible sigh at the realization of how unrealistic your plan was, and that you had bigger things to worry about.

Only Sam seemed to have heard you, running slightly, to catch up to you, offering you a look of sympathy. Sam Gamgee and you understood each other, both being seen as the weak links, despite the both of you knowing that the well-being of the Fellowship rested on the both of your shoulders.

“What’sa matter?” He asked, slightly panting, despite all the travel, still not completely comfortable with the amount of trekking the group of you seemed to do.

“Sick ‘n tired of not bein’ taken seriously.” You muttered, your words slightly slurred from exhaustion and over-exertion.

He gave you a small smile, his eyes full of sympathy. “Believe me, I understand completely.” He said, with his cute little hobbit accent poking through.

You returned his smile, resting your arm on his shoulder. “I keep telling ya, Samwise Gamgee, that the two of us needa get drunk once, together.” You said jokingly, boisterous laughs escaping from the both of you, only replaced by wheezing as you continued your trek up the steep slope, lingering slightly behind Gilmi and Legolas, both of who were bickering, as usual.

The two of you continued up in silence, being with the only person who truly understood you. You straightened your back slightly, your back protesting slightly in pain from the weight it caused to move your backpack from your back to your shoulders, though you ignored it, looking up for a clearing of the rocky terrain where the lot of you could hopefully rest for the night. You caught sight of a clearing, about another hundred or so feet up, your back instantly hunching over to accommodate the weight of your backpack.

“Legolas.” You wheezed out slightly, unsure of if the elf would hear you, though he surprisingly turned around, looking at you with unsure eyes, which seemed to pierce deep throughout your soul.

Not wanting to deal with the oddly intimidating stare of your companion, you motioned with your head, towards the slight clearing, his eyes looking over to where you had motioned, before giving you a curt nod, motioning the clearing to Aragorn, who was loitering in the back with the remaining hobbits.

Legolas and Gilmi, who had been in front of you, were currently running up the steepening slope, Legolas reaching the top in mere moments, his shorter and stouter companion, wheezing slightly and muttering curses under his breath at the prince.

Grumbling angrily, you followed behind them, muttering darkly about the damn showoff of an elf. You knew that it would take you a bit longer to reach the top, about five minutes or so, and seeing the blonde elf grin down at you cockily made you even more frustrated, mumbling many swears, not remembering that Sam was beside you, who now looked very concerned for you, but decided not to question it.

It seemed that your anger and grit had slowed you down, the rest of the fellowship passing you, to your dismay on your way up. Grumbling at them each, you continued, dumping your pack on the ground as soon as you had made it to the clearing, glaring at them all, amused looks on all of their faces.

“What seems to be the problem, Miss (Y/N)?” Gandalf asked rather kindly.

“You’re all bloody stupid! And fucking annoying!” You snapped at him, feeling instantly bad, and apologizing profusely to the wizard.

“What did we do that was so bad?” Sam asked, his eyes wide, and looking full of hurt.

Your heart seemed to crush at his pitiful look, your anger evaporating. “No, not you, Sam. You’re an angel.” You said rather truthfully, wanting to hug him, always seeing him as a younger brother, despite him being a few decades older than you.

“And I suppose the rest of us are as bad as the Orcs.” Legolas said, his voice challenging and calculated as always, though sounding a bit boisterous.

“I’d rather take on an army of orcs than deal with you right now.” You spat out, glaring at him, his stupid smirk unwavering.  

“You couldn’t take on an army of orcs by yourself.” He said, stating it simply, as if it were fact.

You gasped audibly, rage taking over, and instinctively, you grabbed for your dagger, tucked away in your boot, bringing it up to rest at the base of his throat in one smooth and swift motion, the stupid elf not even flinching.

“I’ll have you know that I am very capable, Mister Prince Elf of Mirkwood.” You spat out, your face contorted in anger. You removed your dagger from his throat, placing it back in its sheath, hidden in your boot.

“I never said I doubted you, Miss (Y/N).” He said, mockingly, repeating Gandalf’s words.

"You're infuriating!" You screeched, ready to launch yourself onto him and punch him in his stupidly perfect face. Feeling red hot fury flow through your veins, your hands forming unnaturally tight fists, your knuckles turning white, little angry crescent marks etching themselves onto your palms, your entire body visibly shaking with anger.

You turned away from his infuriating smirk, trying to regain control of your emotions, hearing his amused little chortle. You took a deep breath in, trying to ignore him. “Let’s just make the stupid camp.” You said, your emotions doing a complete 180, exasperation and exhaustion returning to your body like old, unwanted friends.

Ignoring your companions, you tended to setting up the campfire, to provide some warmth and maybe cooked food. Oh, it had been so long since you had warm food. Or just food in general. You had grabbed some firewood, and had set up the small little fire pit, all of this managing to help you calm down.  

The entirety of the makeshift camp had been set up in a few minutes, the fire pit being no exception. However, you started to feel annoyance build up after five minutes of attempting to start a fire, earning a snicker from one of your comrades, practically feeling his eyes on the back of your neck.

“You’re going to have to learn how to set a fire properly.” Legolas said from behind you, standing on a boulder, his eyes dancing with amusement, his voice laced with amusement.

“Oh, and why is that?” You asked, annoyed and frustrated, looking up from your lack of fire, your eyes cold and hard.

“Because how can you be expected to be betrothed to an elf and not know how to start a proper fire?” He asked knowingly, his words dripping with cockiness.

You stared at him for a few minutes, utterly confused and positive that he had rattled something loose with all the happy running he did, before the gears in your brain started to move, saying the most intelligible thing that came to mind, “Hah?”

A smirk made its way onto his face, before he leaned down, bringing his face dangerously close to yours. “You like me.” He said, rather cheekily, before standing up to full height, smirking as you spluttered, trying to find an appropriate response for what had just happened.

Feeling even more confused, you opened your mouth and closed it, gaping at him, before you tilted your head to the side, repeating your same confusion from earlier. “Hah?”

You like him!? The idea was preposterous!

“You like him.” You heard Boromir say, obviously uninterested, from where he was perched on a rock, not looking up.

You turned to gape at him, standing up from your crouched position, feeling wildly and thoroughly confused. “Why would I like this ass!?” You asked, a little too excited, feeling too many things to process at the moment.

“Because you do.” The hobbits added, you gasping in shock when even Sam, betrayed you.

“I do not!” You said rather indignantly, choosing to ignore the large smirk on Legolas’ face, watching you try not to explode.

“I hate to say this, because you’re a good lass, but you do like the elf.” Gilmi agreed reluctantly.

“Since when did this become ‘shit on (Y/N)’ day?” You asked, feeling rather mad that you had been all ganged up on. “Besides, all he does is annoy me! I don’t like him!” You cried out, rather indignantly, though the more you said it, the more it sounded like a lie, and you were hating that.

“Then what do you like?” Aragorn asked, softly and rather calculated, seeming uninterested.

You opened your mouth, before closing it slightly, before blurting it out, not really thinking any of this through. “Infuriating perfection. Like when someone is so perfect, but it also makes me want to knock their teeth out.” You only realized as soon as the words had come out of your mouth, the wall that you had been backed into.

Loud laughs emitted the entire group, much to your dismay, and continued despite your indignant hisses of ‘I don’t like him!!’